


Mysterious Fathoms Below

by MissKate



Category: Descendants (Disney Movies), Disney - All Media Types, Disney Princesses
Genre: Domestic Violence, F/M, Gen, Multi, spousal abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-04
Updated: 2018-07-21
Packaged: 2018-12-23 20:56:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 40,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11997819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissKate/pseuds/MissKate
Summary: You can't cage the ocean. The aftermath of cotillion, in a world where no fascism exists without resistance, the ocean has awakened, and magic has begun to return.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> While not directly a crossover, elements have been taken from various disney series and movies, including Once Upon A Time, especially in regards to Rapunzel's race, and Ursula's backstory. Also featured, the Tinkerbell movies, and some stealth barbie crossovers.

“Where are you taking her?”

It had taken moments to fill a small bag, but they were moments spent with her cousin and mother and aunt. Her grandmother was asleep, thank the gods.

“You can't!” Her mother was sobbing. “I won't let you!”

“Mother,” Dizzy didn't know what to say. Her mother was made ugly by her weeping, and Dizzy longed to put her bag back, to wipe her mother's face, as she had done for Dizzy when she was a baby, before Grandmother had put a stop to what she called “coddling.”

“Don't be selfish, Drusilla!” Aunt Anastasia pulled them apart. “She'll be in Auradon, she'll be with Evelyn.”

“And who knows what they'll do to her?”

“Enough, Aunt!”

Anthony pushed past both Mother and Auntie, glaring at the guards, who frowned at one another.

“Give this to his grace, Benjamin,” Anthony handed her a tattered paper, sealed with the Tremain crest. “Don't open it, Delores, it's for his eyes.”

“Yes, Anthony.”

He smiled, a grave twitch of the lips that didn't reach his eyes, then took something out of his pocket.

“Take this,” he put it into her hands. “It isn't as gaudy as your usual attire, but you might be able to pawn it.”

It was his pocket watch.

“Anthony, you can't-”

“I can, and I will,” he pushed her hand closed around it. “It's yours by right, as much as it is mine.”

“Oh, yes,” Mother had gotten over her hysterics, and began to take her jewelry off. Auntie did, too, and they put them into her bag.

“It's out of fashion,” Auntie apologized. “But the vintage market, well, you know.”

“I'll try not to sell it,” Dizzy said. “I'll keep it for you. We'll see each other-”

“Get in the car before one of these gentleman loses his grip on his crossbow,” Anthony interrupted her, picking her up, and tossing her bodily into the limousine.

“Listen to the queen!” Auntie told her as they closed the door. “And the kings! And your teachers. Do everything that you're told, Dizzy, promise me!”

“I promise,” a guard closed the door, but left the window open, and Mother took Dizzy's hand.

“I love you, my darling.”

“I love you,” and for the first time, Dizzy thought she might cry. “I love you, Auntie. Good bye, Anthony.”

Anthony swallowed, then lifted his chin.

“Remember you're a Tremaine, Delores.”

“I will!” She almost leaned out the window. “I love you! Goodbye!”

...

The water was so cold, so blessedly cold, and blue. She could dance, almost, reaching out by instinct, shooting her way past the tug of currents, part instinct, part skill learned in the bays of the Lost, braids loosening at the end.

_“This is what they stole from me,”_ Uma reached out, and the water parted before her. She could see fish, whales, even her own curious cousins, flitting out of the way, some stopping to stare at her in shock, some even playing in her wake.

She felt her necklace glowing, and the next moment was as easy as thought.

_“Get us out of here,”_ her ship, her crew, Harry, her mad, bad, sad Harry. _“All of us.”_

Lost boys and girls, a small, broken ship. All of it. They only had each other, and a few dirty odds and ends of existence.

She could see the ship, and feel the ocean pouring through her, currents and tides and unnamed, unknown things, earthquakes and volcanoes and the richness of the life that made its home in the depths of the seas, since long before there was such a thing as bones or breath.

The barrier loomed high in her sight, glowing, but then it suddenly seemed as thin as paper.

She was the child and grandchild of witches and sorcerers. Her bloodline came of Neptune, Mami Wata, Agwe, Lyr, Aegaeon, and Ceto, of a thousand other gods and goddesses, who had vanished with time and the coming of men. She was the ocean made flesh, but she was still the ocean and no barrier of fire could stop her. It had tamed her for a time, but now she was with her element, with salt and wind and water.

She raised her hands.

...

In the days that came after, they would speak of how the water burst over the shores. They would speak of the way it flew up on shore, the way the docks splintered and those houses closest to the beach and the rocks flooded.

In the aftermath, no one noticed the missing ship.

...

They were carried out without warning. They'd seen Uma try, they'd seen her fail, and the only option was to stay together, to cling to the only place that most of them called home, ignoring the taunting jeers from the Isle proper, waiting.

The wave hit them, as it had everything else, then paused under them, righting the ship carefully. Gil tried to stand up, but Jonas, already holding down three other kids, shouted for him to stay down, keep everyone else down, and for Harry to stop being a fool.

“Uma!”

Gil glanced over his shoulder.

Harry was was clinging to the bowsprit, yelling into the wind.

“Uma!”

Gil began to crawl to him, and through the rain, he could see the kohl around Harry's eyes begin to run down his cheeks, hair plastered to his head, coat flapping in the wind.

“Uma!”

Gil tried to get up, stumbled, and tried again. He managed it by clinging to the rail, inching along the slick deck, realizing he'd never actually been out during a storm. Not like Harry and Uma, who could be found on their ship at any hour, in any weather.

“Harry!”

Harry didn't move. The only sign he'd even heard Gil was to dig his hook into the spit, and yell into the storm again.

“Bring us to you, Uma!”

The storm grew wilder, at that point, and the wind, picking up, screamed like an angry woman. The ship began to spin, turning to starboard, and Gil nearly fell to the deck.

“Harry, come back!”

Harry did leap off the bowsprit then, laughing wildly, and brandishing his hook gleefully.

“That's my girl!”

Then, as Gil watched in horror, the yardmast swung loose, and Harry went down, cracking his head on the deck.

And the storm raged on.

...

“We don't even know if the storm was her,” Jonas shook Harry awake. “Come on, walk around a bit.”

“Is she back?” Harry asked, clinging to Gil's arm.

The storm had disappeared as quickly as it had come, thinning and disappearing, and everyone was out on deck, staring at the stars. They filled the sky, horizon to horizon, and a misty blue mass of them split the night in two.

Harry swayed as he stood, then stumbled to the portside, vomiting over the rail, making Jonas swear and run to him.

“Second star to the right,” Harry said, when he finished spitting up bile. “Straight on 'til morning.”

“Harry,” Jonas shook his head, exasperated. “We can't-”

“We can!” Harry pulled a knife from somewhere, pointing it the other man's throat. “We can! That's where she'll be!”

Uma. Jonas shook his head when Gil met his eyes.

“Uma's not there,” Gil said, gently, trying to pull Harry back to the cabin. “There's no way she could swim faster than we could-”

“Second star to the right,” Harry pulled away from him, and brandished the hook. “Straight on until morning.”

Harry took the wheel, while Jonas told him to get back to bed and stop being an idiot. Gil told everyone to dry off and get some rest, and he'd wake Bonny for next watch. He brought out some empty barrels to collect rainwater, and threw some blankets on top of the crew as they began to fall asleep.

There had been star maps at school. Harry had been shit at reading them, though, although Gil hadn't been much better. To be honest, Harry hadn't ever been good at much besides being scary, fighting and loving Uma. It made him a good first mate, and a shitty captain.

Gil jumped when Jonas sat down beside him.

“There's no point in trying to stop him,” the older boy said. “He'll tire himself out, in a minute.”

...

Someone would have known how powerful Uma was if she had been born outside the dampening of the barrier. She would have been trained in control and finesse by someone like the Snow Queen, who knew, better than anyone, the effect of untrained elementals.

“Well, you did tell them,” Annika drawled, running a hand through her short red hair.

The drawl was reminiscent of a certain ancestor, long dead and gone before Annika's parents had even met. The red hair was, too, but the white streaks and large blue eyes spoke of another ancestor, and the heavy build of yet another.

_I am surrounded by ghosts,_ Elsa thought. _So I am never alone. Anna, did you fear for me? Or did you know you left me with your ghosts?_

“I did warn them.” she watched the mirror, the water splashing up on the shore. “I told them what would happen if they caged the sea. You'd think Ariel would have known, if no one else.”

“I'd have thought Triton would have had some thoughts on the matter,” Erik said, from corner where he had perched himself, still getting used to a sudden growth spurt that had left him with gangling limbs, like a little colt. Elsa spared him a gentle smile.

“He doesn't care what happens to the world above, as long as his children are safe,” she explained. “No more than the trolls care for the world outside the vales, nor the hulder care to come down from the mountains.”

“All the same,” Annika fiddled with her axe worriedly. “You did warn them.”

“All the same,” Elsa left the mirror, which had switched to a scene where girls in pastel gowns and shimmering jewels whirled with boys in suits that left the viewer slightly pained, and went to the courtyard.

It was summer, and one of her many times great nieces was playing with the wind, laughing to herself. Elsa watched her raise and lower the breeze, while another niece sulked in the shadows, sunburnt and irritated with summer, while Olaf tried to cheer her up.

Ice crackled and chimed, swirling up from the pool and reforming itself into a crystal horse. The new cars and limos did for diplomatic visits, the sleds for everyday winter, but Elsa had been born before the days of the combustion engine, and she had once been an accomplished horsewoman.

“I'll be back in a few days,” she said, and patted Annika on the shoulder. “And yes, I have my cell phone. It's even charged.”

“I put your charger in your purse,” Erik added, leaning out the window with the bag. “And some granola bars, in case you get hungry.”

“Be careful, will you, Auntie?” Annika added. “Don't let the Beast get to you.”

“He won't be so beastly with a little frostbite,” Elsa teased. “Now be good, all of you.”

They laughed, and waved at her as she rode the rainbow road, over the roiling sea and through the storm winds.

...

Jonas was old enough to remember outside the barrier, although only barely. He remembered sunny skies, mostly, enough food that he'd never felt hungry, and a puppy that had met its end when her Grace had sent her soldiers to round up the fey on the edges of the moors, by way of a steel-toed boot to the neck.

“They killed the fells,” was all his mother ever said, when he asked about it.. She had quietly died in her sleep the day word came that the last of those black dogs was gone.

So when he woke up the a burning light in the sky it wasn't the surprise it was to the rest of them. He'd seen sunrises before, although not so much the colourful dream as this.

What did surprise him was Harry, who was still standing at the wheel, as if he were stuck to it, legs and back straight as arrows, focused on something hidden in the sunrise.

“She's there,” Was all he said.

Jonas tried to get him to rest. He wouldn't leave the wheel.

It didn't really matter, he supposed. If Harry was bent on dying, there was nothing they could do to stop him.

...

But he didn't die.

...

When they brought Dizzy in, unlike Evie's own arrival, it was late enough that most people were asleep, and the press was occupied with the events of Cotillion. Also unlike Evie's arrival, she came in asleep, with smears of cream and chocolate around her mouth, curled up in the arms of a guard.

“She said she'd never had ice cream before,” Pierre said, awkwardly shifting his feet, almost apologetic.

Evie laughed, and led them, Pierre carrying Dizzy, and Leon carrying her bag, to a dorm room not far from hers. She'd be alone at first, but Evie knew Dizzy didn't really have her own room at home, sharing the kitchen with her mother, so maybe the change would be welvome

“Mmm...” Dizzy woke up just a bit when Evie wiped her face free of chocolate, and blinked up at her. “Evie?”

“Go back to sleep, Dizzy,” Evie smiled as gently as she tucked Dizzy under the covers, remembering the first time she'd slept in he soft, firm bed, covered with blankets as soft and fluffy as clouds.

“Anthony said this is for Ben,” Dizzy put a small, crumbled piece of parchment in her hands. “He said no one should read it, just Ben.”

“I'll give it to the king,” Evie assured her. “Go to sleep, Dizzy. You have a big day tomorrow.”

...

“What is it?” Ben asked, taking the paper reluctantly.

“It could be anything,” Mal shrugged. “Anthony's kind of a weird guy.”

“He's a snob,” Carlos inserted, tossing a ball for Dude, who brought it back and refused to give it to him, curling up in Carlos' arms instead. “Remember that time you stole his watch?”

Jay laughed, and shook his head.

“He paid my dad to get it back,” he told Ben, who was smiling in the polite, Auradonian style of confusion. “It cost him three pounds of mermaid scales, and he smelled like fish for a month.”

Ben winced.

“Mermaid scales?”

“They wash up on the beaches,” Mal assured him. “He didn't skin any mermaids.”

“That would have been worth a bit more than a watch,” Jay said, then winced. “Sorry.”

“No,” Ben remembered Uma, fierce, bright, then slowly defeated, and how Harry's eyes had glittered with bloodlust. “It's fine, I mean, you did what you had to do.”

The parchment was so old it had factured along the folds, and the wax snapped cheaply.

 

_“To Your Grace, King In Waiting, Benjamin of House Anjou,_

 

_Greetings, and with hope for your continued happiness and prosperity._

 

_You have with you all the treasure of House Tremaine. I pray you keep her well, she is fully innocent and good, and your mercy and kindness will be rewarded with her loyal service, and mine._

 

_Keep her with you, teach her well, let her grow to be happy and good, and I will give you any service a man in prison might do for his sovereign, no matter how great or small,_

 

_Yours in gratitude,_

 

_Anthony Tremaine”_

 

“He's a bit dramatic,” Ben commented, passing the letter to Mal, who snorted.

“That's Lord Tremaine, alright.”

“He loves his cousin,” Ben thought about the portrait of old Lady Tremaine and her daughters, that he'd seen in Aquitaine, before his cousin by marriage, eyes sad and soft, had covered it in response to his mother's offense.

“You think Chad'll want to meet her?” Carlos asked, tickling Dude's stomach so fiercely that they both fell onto the ground.

“I think the question there is if she'll want to meet Chad,” Dude commented, attacking Carlos' face with licks and puppy nibbles. “Not exactly a sterling example of gentlemanly behaviour.”

“I can't believe he's Cinderella's kid,” Mal said. “I mean, she's so nice. How did she raise someone like that?”

“He's kind of like his grandpa, to be honest,” Ben put the letter carefully away, in case Dizzy or someone would want it one day. “He used to be a total tyrant, until he died a few years ago. His sisters are nice, but they're too little to come here.”

“How old are they?” Evie asked. “Do we have any other kids Dizzy's age?”

Ben shook his head, and winced.

“The only way we could get her out was to bring her here,” he explained. “We'll have to figure something out with Fairy Godmother.”

“At least she's out,” Evie sighed. “And she's had some ice cream.”

“Wait until she has bacon,” Dude said, excitedly. “And peanut butter, oh mama! Peanut butter and bacon ice cream!”

“Why are we friends again?” Carlos asked him.

...

Elsa banished the ice horse back to the waves as she landed on the docks. Cell phones had their uses, and Rapunzel was waiting for her there, long black hair hanging loose and pooling around her feet.

Else ran and embraced her cousin, feeling like a girl again.

“Dearest,” she sighed into Rapunzel's hair, which smelled of lilacs. “It's been too long.”

“Too long indeed,” Rapunzel drew back and looked her up and down. “You've put on weight!”

Elsa twirled, laughing. “Five pounds, if you'll believe it.”

“I almost don't,” Rapunzel took her arm. “Eugene is at the castle, with young Cassidy. He's following in his great-grandmother's footsteps. Even has his own owl.”

“How unfortunate,” Elsa sighed, remembering her own experiences with the stupidest bird in Corona. “They just aren't very bright, Rapunzel.”

“Don't say that to Young Cass, Elsa, he'll never forgive you.”

There was a small door, hiden behind a tapestry and a mild glamour, and they took that way back, slipping in from the garden, and it was there that Elsa asked the question, in a dark staircase illuminated only by the faint glow from the Sun Queen's aura.

“Did you feel it?”

Rapunzel nodded, face growing grave.

“I felt it. The waves were so high we evacuated the lower edges of the capital.”

“Whoever it is is strong, stronger than any ocean mage since, well, since Maui's friend.”

“Moana's been asleep on Te Fiti for at least half a millenium, though,” she mused. “And if you felt it, you know where it came from.”

“The Isle,” Rapunzel shook her head, grimly. “Not even Ursula was as strong as that, in her prime.”

They kept walking in silence, then Rapunzel spoke, voice trembling.

“They-they have Ruby.”

“Your youngest,” Elsa stared at her. “Rapunzel, how?”

“She's MagicMirror-friends with that boy, Benjamin,” Rapunzel was nearly weeping. “She wanted to go to his school so badly, and I couldn't... I thought it would be harmless, just a term.”

“Oh, Rapunzel,” Elsa sighed. “Rapunzel, we'll get her back. Request her return, make up an emergency.”

“I'm trying,” Rapunzel sighed. “But it's so soon after the barrier broke.”

“Do they even know it broke?” Elsa asked, thinking it over. “Maybe they haven't felt it, yet.”

“But if we felt it-”

“We're two of the strongest elementals in the world,” Elsa interrupted her. “I mean, they don't have anyone near our skill.”

“You don't know that, Elsa,” Rapunzel opened the door to a small study. “You think that mirror shows you everything, but it doesn't. They have a fairy godmother.”

“A godmother who relies on a wand,” Elsa snorted.

“Hello, Ice Cube,” Eugene wrapped an arm around her for a quick embrace, before turning to his wife. “And how's the most beautiful woman in the world?”

“Frazzled,” Rapunzel smiled at him.

Elsa wondered at the power of the sun, to keep her consort with her, young and strong.

_Anna wanted to go. She wanted to be with Kristoff._

“Have you heard from Ruby?” Rapunzel asked, clearly trying to keep the panic out of her voice.

“She says she'll be coming home by ship,” the prince assured her. “Something about picking up a friend and bringing her to visit.”

“Didn't you tell her it was urgent?” Rapunzel snapped. “That girl, she should be taking a magic carpet, or a pegasus.”

“Yeah, imagine you having a daughter who throws caution to the wind, and does things her own way,” Eugene snorted. “It's incredible.”

“Stop it, Eugene,” Rapunzel looked close to tears. “This isn't her leaving a tower for a day trip, it's serious.”  
“Then she has a serious reason to take a ship,” Elsa comforted her. “And we have a full day of planning ahead of us.”

She turned to Eugene.

“Please ask Ruby to meet us in Maldonia.”

“What on earth is going on in Maldonia?”

“You'd know if you ever used that magic mirror I gave you,” Elsa laughed. “Saddle a sunbeam, little cousin. We're meeting with Tiana in two days time.”

“What?”

“Why in two days?” Eugene asked, already tapping away on his phone.

“That's when the gods will be there,” Elsa felt her dress whirl and reform, suitable for a hot, humid city on the edge of a swamp.

“The gods?”

“Maui, at least,” Elsa opened her phone. “And possibly another.”

...

“You certainly took your time,” the old woman said, sharply. “Shes been awake a full day.”

Mortals got cockier as they got older, Maui thought, as he resumed his human form. It was like they spent the last few years of their lives trying to get the last word in.

“Is she alright?”

“She had a cry, then she sat up and started eating pork, happy as you please,” the old woman leaned heavily on her stick as she walked, and Maui offered her his arm, which she ignored.

There were seldom many humans here. Only the very old, and one warrior, to watch the woman who had brought sailing back to the people. The homes had electricity now, including the one they were walking to now, where a young girl sat next to a skinny rooster, eating slices of mango, and letting the juice ruin her clothes.

“Hey, princess!”

“I'm not a princess,” she retorted, looking up with a grin. “I'm a demi-god. Did you know that would happen?”

“What can I say,” He took her into his arms and squeezed the breath out of her. “You're welcome.”

...

It took a full day, and the theft of a garbage skow before anyone realized that the barrier had come down. Water elementals were the first, flinging themselves into the waves with wild delight, then air and fire demons whirled upwards, singing. Earth witches, trapped by the waves, shook the ground as their powers returned, or, in some cases, overwhelmed them for the first time.

Magic hit the children of the island hardest. Most had never known that they were children of magic, and when it came, it overflowed. Uma might have known, but she was gone.

The navy sailed in, followed by the air force, turning the water folk back with grim determination. Some fled to caves, or hid in reefs. Parents tucked their young ones away, and surrendered themselves, or threw their children to the sailors and Triton's warriors, fleeing to save themselves. Air and fire was downed by both water and planes, by fairies and phoenixes.

No one would have dared to call it a massacre. No one talked about the attack. No one would have called it anything but necessary, and Auradon watched in terror as their prisoners fled the little pile of rocks that had been generously accorded them, and were herded back by heroes.

...

Ben paced back and forth in his room, trying to ignore the steady presence of the guards outside his door, trying to pretend that Mal was out there instead, that she was about to knock, and they were going to go down and picnic in the grass, and that the sun was shining and that they were about to close the island and bring everyone home.

He pretended he couldn't feel a heat rising in his heart and he pretended he was clipping his nails because they'd gotten too long.

...

The island rose with the sun, a black dot above and below the horizon that slowly colasced into a blur, then a range of mountains, then, as the sun rose higher and higher, the mountains were covered with trees of every type and size, all far cries from the small, spindly things that grew somewhat desperately in ragged patches on the Isle.

They sailed in, Harry trembling at the wheel, soft, keening notes rising from his throat.

(No one was close enough to hear it, _Uma, Uma, Uma..._ )

They dropped anchor in a small lagoon, scattering some mermaids, and Harry ran to the dingy, the one they never used and were about to find out leaked. He bailed it out himself, while Bonnie rowed.

The trees were so thick here that they blocked out the sun, they climbed the mountains as if they had legs themselves, the touched one another and whispered in an ancient tongue that Harry couldn't speak.

( _“Too much like your mother, boy, too much..._ )

He stumbled from the boat, and the world spun around him, even more than usual, and what time was it? Was it ten? Was it ten past? Was it four? The blasted watch, the numbers spun, and made no sense, never had, but it was his, Uma had given it to him, to keep him from being late, but it hadn't worked, the damn thing.

“Uma!”

She wasn't in the cove, she didn't spin out like a water spout.

“Uma!”

She didn't flow up the shore, as graceful on two legs as eight, she didn't appear in the little break in the trees where a river poured itself uselessly into the sea.

“Uma!”

She didn't answer, and the world was dark and bright and dark again.

“Uma...”

He was falling. He thought he might be flying, but he'd never had any pixy dust.

“Uma.”

...

“-A tale of the queen of the sea, sing hey, to the starboard, heave ho,” a hand brushed her hair back, and a wave flowed over her skin. “Ruler of all of the oceans is she, in mysterious fathoms below.”

The words were followed by humming, soft and deep. She moved, trying to get away from the hand, some instinct reminding her not to let herself be touched, or taken.

“Easy, lass, easy.”

She opened her eyes. For a moment she couldn't see. Then soft blurs, and finally it cleared.

The man was old. He didn't look so old, but she could feel the years on him, heavy and deep.

Yet, he smiled. At her.

And for a moment she hated him for his smile. Some darkness, grief and rage, rose in her.

“Hello, darling.”

She drew back from his hands, which reached out as if he couldn't help it.

“Who are you?”

He flinched, as if she'd hurt him.

“I'm your grandfather,” he told her, after a long moment.

She nodded, and sat up, then panicked for a moment, realizing she was underwater. They were both underwater, they were so far underwater, but.

She was breathing.

He tried to stifle a chuckle, but failed, then guffawed out loud when she shot him a dirty look. He slapped his knee(his tail?) and she flinched, then hated herself for it.

“I'm sorry,” he held up his hands. “I'm sorry, you just, you look exactly like your mother used to, when she was your age.”

Mother, the words conjured rough affection, and rough words, but no face. Tentacles that could snap around a corner anywhere.

“My mother,” she tasted the words.

“Yes,” He sat down on the bed beside her. “My Ursula.”

She thought about it.

“My mother's name is Ursula.”

“Yes,” he reached out, and gingerly wrapped an arm around her. She waited, for hands to wander, for him to pull her tight, too tight, but he just sat, touching her as if she were some fragile gift.

“What's-”

How did introductions go, after all?

“What's your name?”

“Poseidon,” he said, softly. “Poseidon, after the god.”

That was a good name, a name you could take pride in, she thought. But not the name for a grandparent.

“Grandfather?”

“Yes, my little minnow?”

She looked at him, at his face. He had kind eyes. Warm and brown.

“What's my name?”

...

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

...

They found him face down in the sand, head on his arm, thank god.

“Drowning in sand would be, like, the worst way to go,” Gil said, as they turned him over. “Can you imagine-”

“I don't want to,” Bonnie interrupted him. “You think it's safe to get him back to the ship?”

“I don't want to move him too far if we can help it,” Jonas told her. “Gil, go back, and tell Cookie and the rest where we are, okay? We'll set up camp here.”

The rest came ashore a few at a time, three or four hanging back on the ship to watch things. Fresh water lured them into the trees, and Cookie sent all the clothes over to be washed, or at least rinsed and pounded out on the rocks.

Harry was feverish, but the idea of him dying was alien and nauseating, so everyone brought water to cool him, forced him to drink, and took turns fanning him with the broad leaves from the edge of the woods.

There was a scrape on the side of his head that was going from reddish black to puffy and slightly green.

Bonnie looked in the bush for berries and roots, anything that resembled the refuse from the garbage that had made up most of their meals before this. Her mother had been one of Shan Yu's crew before the Isle, and she'd always tried to pass something on, in the hopes that Bonnie would make it off. Her father had always watched those lessons with grim resignation, before taking her out to teach her to swim, or to climb ropes.

There were a few small fruits she recognised, and Cookie speared fish in the lagoon. They cooked it over a fire, the way they had back home, but it tasted better this way. Everything tasted better here, even the water that Jonas kept trying to get everyone to boil before eating.

Actually, the water was amazing. On the Isle, you drank dank well water, scooped out half filthy rainwater from leaking barrels, or drank from the near solid rivers and hoped for the best, or you did what everyone else did and drank the moonshine from your nearest establishment.

She'd spent her whole life thirsty, cracked, dry lips, strained tight skin, and a slight ache in her entire body, and now she could kneel by the fastest water she'd ever seen and just fill up her hands. She could drink so much that she could waste it, letting it overflow from her mouth down her face and neck.

“Uma?”

Harry started talking to himself as the sun began to dip low.

“Uma, c'mere. Uma.”

Bonnie curled up against Desiree, pulling her

“Uma,” Harry's voice went hard, vicious. “Little girl, yeah, I said it.”

“Harry, she'll kill you if she hears you called her that,” Gil hissed.

Bonnie thought about the water, and the empty, blue lagoon. She thought about her parents, and about Shan Yu, and about all the people who woke up, ripped from death to live in a place where you chose between filthy water and throat searing liquor.

Would the king bring Uma back to life, if she were dead, to serve her sentence on the Isle?

The boy-king had seemed nice, Bonnie thought, curling closer to Desiree. At most he'd kill them quick and leave it, but the king himself was vengeful and hard. He wouldn't just go for Uma, he'd drag all of them back, piece by piece.

Bonnie planned on how she would burn herself to death before letting that happen, when Desiree and Gil poked her back to full wakefulness.

“Fireflies!”

Little dancing lights, like stars that had come down to investigate the newcomers, that darted down and back up. Bonnie giggled, watching them zip around, gold and blue and yellow and bright greens.

“I didn't know they were so colourful,” she whispered to Desiree, who sighed, wriggling in closer to her.

“They're not,” Jonas pronounced, grimly.

“What?” Bonnie sat up. “What are you-”

“Get away from him!” Jonas began to swipe at the lights, which were beginning to congregate around Harry, making soft noises like bells.

They swarmed at Jonas, forcing him back in a shimmer of colour and sound, Bonnie grabbed a handful of sand, making to throw it at them, and a shadow came dancing down from the trees to bounce around Harry.

“What the hell?”

“Hook!”

A boy followed the shadow, and took it by the hand, scolding in a fierce whisper.

“Second star to the right...” Gonzo whispered.

“The Nevernever,” Desiree hissed at her.

“Well, yeah,” Gil laughed at them. “Where did you think we were going?”

“Hook?” The boy left off chasing his shadow, and knelt beside Harry. “Wake up, Hook.”

“He won't wake up,” That was Bonnie, to her own surprise. “He got hit on the head.”

“Oh,” the boy pouted. “But you've been gone so long, and I had the BEST idea!”

He was little and brown, dressed in green as green as leaves(actually, it might have been leaves, Bonnie thought), and looked as if he'd sprung from the trees.

The Boy Who Never Grew Up, she felt almost hysterical. James Hook's great nemesis, pouting like a child. James Hook's great nemesis, a literal child.

Then she looked into his eyes. Something old lurked there, something ancient and fierce.

“Hey,” Pan broke away from her, inspecting Harry more closely.

“Where's his hook?”

...

Tinker Bell could remember a variety of things, from before the Pixy Dust tree trickled to a few tiny drips. Once upon a time, before Peter made Neverland his, and before the plagues that swept across the Hollow, dropping fairies like so many leaves.

If she could go back, though, before the great fairies...

Zarina.

The boy was somewhere close to dying, although she couldn't really tell with humans.

Hook's boy.

“Uma.”

Silvermist raised an eyebrow and fluttered down to the Hook child.

“That's weird.”

“What is?” Tink didn't really much care. Vidia would be back with the healing fairies soon, and maybe they had enough dust to spare to make sure the boy didn't die. Then the pirates could leave, and take this whole sorry mess with them.

“That's the most ancient one,” Silvermist took ginger steps on the boy's face. “The first name the water ever had.”

“So he prays,” Tink rolled her eyes, and watched Peter fiddle with the pirate children's swords and take their hats. “So what? Humans are always doing that.”

Silvermist shrugged, and fluttered away.

...

Grandfather told her to stay hidden, and they used the time to go through names.

“Periwinkle” was a no, as was “Gullfeather”, “Marin”, and “Nereid”. “Cetisa” sounded like a disease, and “Ursa” was too star-like. “Moira” was sad. “Rainbowshrimp” made her angry, and she frightened herself.

Grandfather found her in the corals afterwards, curled up in her own tentacles.

“Go away,” she muttered.

“I will,” he perched on the coral opposite of her. “If you really want me to.”

She took a breath, and hated herself again.

“I'm sorry,” she scrubbed at her eyes, which was ridiculous, because they were underwater. “I don't even know why I'm angry. I can't remember anything to be angry about.”

“Just because your head doesn't remember, doesn't mean your heart has forgotten,” Grandfather seated himself more comfortably on a smoothly worn stone. “Our hearts remember good things and bad.”

“I just-” she shook her head. “How do you not know my name? Why didn't you ever come for us? Why don't I remember anything?”

“They don't tell anything about the island,” Grandfather looked older than he had before, weighed down with something. “No news makes it through the barriers, they don't tell relatives anything. And I'm not exactly welcome in Atlantica these day.”

Atlantica, kingdom of the mer, had expanded, not long ago, historically speaking, after King Triton won over Poseidon, last of the...

_“This is Snow White, signing off!”_

She shuddered, shaking off the memory.

“What's wrong, little pearl?”

“I remembered something,” a man with cold blue eyes, standing beside a beautiful redhead, his huge, flowing mane of grey hair serving to make him more intimidating. “Just a news report. Triton's daughter was married to a human.”

“Oh, that,” Grandfather's belly shook with laughter. “Yes, that was quite the joke around here. I was a bit prejudiced against the two leggers myself once, but Triton, oh, he was a whole other kettle of worms about the issue.”

She laughed, too, but it felt fragile. She was giggling, but it didn't feel real. As if someone else were laughing, and she was far away somewhere.

Then she was back, and crying again.

“Oh, darling,” Grandfather had strong arms, she noticed, far stronger than anyone of his apparent age and stress should have. “What's the matter?”

She shrugged, and leaned into the hug, against a screaming terror in her that told her not to touch, not to feel, and kept crying.

“I wish I had kept her with me,” he murmured.

“What-what happened to her?” she asked, staying close, avoiding his eyes.

“It was before you born,” he told her.

Over twenty years of staying hidden, low in the coral caves and the reefs, gone from beloved princess, to lowly sea witch. She collected her power, saved her strength, and sent back letters to come and take sanctuary with her family in the far off, northern kingdom.

And when opportunity came to, take vengeance and reclaim her throne, she took it, through the foolish wish of a mermaid who longed to run around in the sun and burn her hand on fires.

“She shouldn't have done it,” Grandfather said, voice soft with regret. “She had no right to harm a child to get to the father. My poor, sweet child. She was so bright. So fierce. I think, in the end, she overstepped. She forgot, even if they were her enemies, they loved, too.”

“But,” Ursula's daughter drew back, and finally looked up at him. “You said she died.”

He shook his head.

“I don't know what evil magic they called on,” he said. “Something foul, from the moors, perhaps, or some unknown fairy spell. I was ready to die, myself, when the word came.

“They brought her back. As healthy and hale as the day she died. I packed, I was ready to go and see what I could do, when they told me about the Isle of the Lost.”

_... “-I might just let him go,” she turned her head, and watched a dark triangle break the surface. “The sharks here are a little hungry, after all.”_

_Give me the wand. Don't be a fool. Give me the wand and let me free myself. Let me free my crew._

_“Okay, let's all just be smart,” and, as if she couldn't help it, a sneer twisted the other girl's doll-like face. “I guess that might be a little hard for you.”_

“I tried to get them to let me go see her, to let me send a letter. They won't even let me into Atlantica. They won't tell me anything about her. The only way I know she's still alive is...”

His eyes crinkled, and he smiled.

“...Finding you,” he chucked under her chin. “You floated into my reef, like a gift from the gods.”

“Some gift,” she thought of the broken vase she'd left behind in her rage.

“You just need to find a better way of letting out your frustration,” he told her. “Maybe tailball.”

“I don't have a tail,” she reminded him.

“We'll think of something.”

...

“I hate going North,” Maui said.

Moana hummed in acknowledgement, and patted Hei-Hei the umpteenth on his little feathery head.

“I hate the cold, I hate the ice, I hate the mermaids.”

“I heard they don't like you, either,” she commented, tightening a rope.

“You steal one magic rock and no one ever lets you live it down!”

“You've stolen lots of magic rocks,” Moana reminded him.

“Yes,” he allowed. “But it's this one that they won't let go of.”

“Well, it's been a long time,” she threw a feathered cloak on herself, and bundled Hei Hei away under the deck. “Maybe they've forgotten.”

Maui shook his head. “They're like elephants, kiddo.”

“They're big, they have long noses, and they're afraid of mice?”

“They never forget,” Maui's shoulders hunched, and he glared into the distance, as if just waiting for a shell bra and a pair of fins. “They never forget.”

...

“Alright, let's get you to bed, little buddy,” Tiana picked her son up, wiping the pablum off his face. “Grandma and Grandpa need a rest, too, you know.”

“Nonsense!” Falguni laughed at her. “Our grandson is a rest to us.”

“Well, he does need to sleep, all the same, Mama Falguni,” Tiana leaned in and kissed her cheek. “Thanks for taking care of him so well.”

“It is always our pleasure,” Amadeo said. “He's such a good child, so gentle and well behaved. Not like some sons I've known.”

“Naveen made things very exciting,” Falguni scolded her husband. “You leave him alone.”

“What about some tv?” Raphael stepped in before they could descend to bickering, and flicked it on.

Naveen slept through the whole thing, Tiana noticed, but he'd been hard at work all month, first at Tiana's Palace, then running here to prepare for Ralphie's coronation, not to mention Eudora's election campaign.

Jimmy lay down without fussing, only grabbing his little stuffed alligator and rolling over to look at the stars.

“Look how she lights up the sky,” Tiana watched the evening stars dance overhead. “Ma Belle Evangeline.”

She hummed to herself as she left Jimmy, fast asleep, and went back to the family room, in the surprisingly modest summer home that Falguni and Amadeo kept just for her, Naveen, and their babies.

_We're going to have to move someday. The people are going to want their king close to them, and Naveen and Jimmy are going to have to be here to learn from Papa Amadeo._

Not right away, though. They had at least a decade of grace, and maybe she'd be tired of the restaurant by then. Maybe she'd be ready to be a princess, a real one.

The moon shone down and poured through the huge windows, making pools of blue light on the marble floors. If she'd been wearing socks, she could have almost glided from one room to another, and it was quiet, just a few cricket songs filling in the evening.

The family room was a whole other story. There was a splash across the tv screen that looked like coffee with too much cream, and Tiana found herself looking for a napkin, or something, only to be gently whisked aside by the only maid in the house, a near retirement woman named Ada, who wiped away the liquid and picked up the cup, as if she had no idea that Amadeo was a few feet away, on his cell, or that Ralphie and Naveen were arguing in Maldaquesh, so loud she was worried that Jimmy could hear it, or that Falguni was transfixed by the tv screen, with tears running down her face.

“Mama Fal?”

“Oh,” Falguni drew her down to sit on the soft, tasteful couch. “Tiana, dear, there's been a-There's been-”

“What's wrong?” Tiana felt as if she couldn't breathe, as if the air was being sucked out of this sweet, orderly room, well decorated and full of things that were a hundred or more years old. “Is it- Is Mama-”

“Your mother is fine, mi bella,” Amadeo stopped talking for a moment. “I'm on the phone with her now.”

“It is the Isle of the Lost,” Naveen paused in his argument with Ralphie. “After the attack on the Auradonian Cotillion, the Barrier was somehow removed.”

For a moment all she could think of was Facilier, and the slimy way he smiled, the way he moved, like a shadow.

Then she remembered the last reports that she'd seen, images of starving, filthy children, disease, and despair, quickly denounced by Adam and Belle Florian as falsehoods put about by Moanan media to discredit Auradon.

“Isn't that a good thing?” She asked. “I mean, it's been years, already. Can't we all just try and, I don't know, figure something out.”

She looked at Naveen. “He can't get Jimmy. Mama Odie put so many charms on him and us, on our family, I'd be surprised if Jimmy ever stubbed his toe.”

“And there's kids there,” she continued. “Little ones who deserve better than what they're getting. Food, and doctors, and a safe place to live.”

“-we have footage now of the Isle proper, taken during the attack by one of our drones,” The Maldonian news reporter looked grim as she spoke, her black hijab emphasizing the seriousness of the topic. “I should warn you, many of these images are graphic. Viewers of a sensitive constitution are advised to leave the room, or turn the channel off.”

The screen switched to fire and smoke, an aerial view. Soldiers with crossbows raining down bolts on people who, honestly, might as well have been unarmed, for all their rattling of swords, people flinging back molatov cocktails, kids running for cover, and houses, shacks, really, falling under the onslaught of the soldiers and the pressures of the resistance.

As the camera flew low, it stopped, and was forcibly turned.

A filthy piece of paper, with black, hastily drawn writing on it.

“The children of the Lost are being taken.

Being killed.

Being starved and left to disease

Tell the world.

Over fifteen thousand men, women, and children

being slaughtered by Auradon.”

Then the paper dropped, and there was a blur of light and colour, until the camera focused again , this time on the face of a young woman, with brown skin, brown eyes, and blood bubbling over her lips. Then a boot, and the picture stopped.

“We seem to have lost access to our camera,” the reporter pressed a hand to her ear. “But we have received word that reporters are being escorted from the area by the Auradonion military.”

“Yes, yes, I saw it, Eudora,” Amadeo said. “I'm emailing for an emergency council meeting here, so if you can just get- That's right.”

“We can't invade,” Naveen said, leaving Ralphie alone to fume, and wrapping Tiana up in her arms. “Even with Orleans' support, we don't have the soldiers, and we're tied up in too many different agreements with the League of Nations.”

“That doesn't mean we can't offer sanctuary,” Amadeo explained. “We haven't had an extradition treaty since they took Facilier. We refused to allow them Noma, and Orleans wouldn't give up LeRouge with no reprisals.”

“That doesn't necessarily mean we're not going to see some now,” Ralphie said. “We need to attack, the other nations-”

“Will do what they must to protect themselves and their people,” Naveen interrupted his brother, and shook his head. “Raphael, you are valiant and just, but it is not enough to be either. The people will need more than “this is wrong” to commit to giving their lives for this cause.”

Ralphie was shaking with rage, and he whirled, racing away down the hall.

“-meanwhile, the Royal Authority has offered a reward for information leading to the whereabouts of several missing prisoners, most notably Harry Hook and Uma, daughter of Ursula, the so-called “sea witch” and deposed Princess of Atlantica. The two are believed to be responsible for the loss of the barrier, and for an attack earlier this week on the Royal Auradonian Yacht.”

Two pictures flashed across the screen. There was a pretty girl with huge, haunted eyes, and sea coloured hair, and a boy with black smudges on his face, as if he'd just been wiped clean of ink, and a challenging glare.

These weren't school photos, Tiana realized. They were mug shots.

“Do you think they really did anything?”

She didn't realize she'd spoken out loud until she saw everyone looking at her.

“I mean,” she gestured to the screen. “Do you think- I just don't see why the Auradonions would tell the truth. They pretty much have a ready made scapegoat.”

“They do,” Amadeo nodded, then put his phone away. “I must go, the council is meeting within the hour. Nina has offered to bring the pastries, so I'll need to pick up coffee.”

“I'll come with you, Papa,” Naveen volunteered.

“I'll make something for y'all to have when you get home,” Tiana stood up, wiping her hands. “And I bet Jimmy's about ready for a visit from Grandma and a bottle.”

“You know, I actually think I can hear him,” Falguni said. “Ada, please go back to bed. Tiana and I will be fine.”

The old woman, silent as ever, nodded and slipped away. Tiana stretched, put her hair up, and got into the comfort of work.

...

“There we go!” Elsa pointed down. “Put your beam on that water, Sundrop, they're right there.”

“Does my hair look alright?” Rapunzel sighed, patting a few loose strands. “I wish I'd had time to put more beads in.”

“It's lovely,” Elsa scolded her. “Besides, we're going to meet some demi-gods, they won't care about your hair.”

“Says you,” Rapunzel muttered, then dropped her sunbeam on the back of the catamaran. “Hello!”

“Sunshine!” The large man down below waved at them. “And... Iceberg! Come aboard!”

“Thank you,” Rapunzel took Elsa's hand, and they drifted down the long shaft of light.

Maui was as big and bright as ever, his powers shimmering over the wind and sky. His companion was more subtle, hanging back in her cloak of feathers and crown of blossoms.

“Hello,” Rapunzel smiled at her, and was overwhelmed when she smiled back.

“You're-” She shivered under the onslaught. Waves, currents, depths unimaginable. “You're the ocean.”

“Oh?” Moana reached out, and played her fingers in the air. “You're the sun.”

“I love the way you bounce my rays back to me!”

“The way you make my currents move,” Moana shook her head. “It's amazing, I love it.”

“You're so full of life,” Rapunzel sighed. “I love your whales, especially.”

“Well,” Moana cast her eyes down, modestly. “It all comes from you, in the end, so...”

“But it's your salt and water that makes it all magically happen,” Rapunzel took her hands.

“Well, that went surprisingly well,” Maui commented, sotto voce.

“I wasn't surprised at all,” Elsa laughed at him.

“We're going North,” Moana told Rapunzel. “Maui says there's a kingdom up there, but it didn't exist when I was a kid, so I don't know that he isn't joking.”

“We're going North, too!” Rapunzel gestured to Elsa. “I'm the queen of Corona, and Elsa is the queen of Arendelle. We're meeting up in Maldonia to see what we can do about the Isle of the Lost opening up.”

“The Isle of the Lost?” Moana asked.

Maui shrugged when Rapunzel looked at him. “Not exactly the kind of thing you want to lead into when someone wakes up after five hundred years.”

...

Rapunzel explained it to her. It felt like Grandma, or Mom, telling her why the storms came, why only a few out of every clutch of turtle eggs made it to the waves. Rapunzel had a way of explaining terrible truths.

“We can't stop it,” she whispered. “We can't just use our powers?”

“Not without dying,” Elsa said. “I don't know about the rest of you, but I like my mortal body, and I don't want to lose it to a bunch of Auradonian thugs.”

“Me, either,” Maui added.

“But-” Moana didn't know how to say it. “They're killing people.”

And like a current pulling her on, she could feel it. Pulses of pain and grief and rage and misery, all leading to a certain point, where the sea was reaching in and out, touching the island. She wanted to move, but she could also feel the strain in reaching out. That had been what sent her into the sleep, last time.

“Too much of anything is never a good thing, as they say,” Rapunzel told her, wrapping an arm over her shoulders. “Best if we go to Maldonia, then to Auradon.”

“Well,” Moana stood up, and wrapped a rope around her hand. “That, that I can help with.”

...

They thought about throwing the garbage overboard, but Ruby nixed the idea.

“They'll follow the garbage, and it'll piss off the mermaids,” she pointed out, and even the most belligerent passenger had to concede her point.

“Besides,” Florica pointed out. “We might run out of food, or need to sell something when we get to Maldonia.”

“Ruby!”

Ruby almost broke her neck as she turned her head, still unused to the lack of heavy hair. Florica ran in holding a hand radio.

“It was still in the packaging. I think it was one of those things people buy to give us. Listen!”

“-When asked about his country's decision to join with the citystate Orleans in offering shelter to fleeing Isle residents-”

“That's us!” Florica giggled. “Well, except for you.”

“The humanitarian mission, above all other things, is of utmost importance to us,” Amadeo's soft baritone echoed reassuringly from the little device. “The concerns of Auradon are understandable, but despite those concerns, and in consideration with the fact that neither Maldonia, nor Orleans, has ever agreed to the Villain Accords, we have decided that our efforts must be focused on giving shelter to the people fleeing this unjust imprisonment and murder.”

“Well, I guess Auntie chose the right course,” Ruby said. “Steady as she goes, Sammy?”

“Um,” Sammy made a few small adjustments. “I guess?”

Ruby laughed, and left him, stepping out onto the small deck, staring into the horizon.

“We're over the Pearl Kingdom, now,” she looked at her GPS. “We should be in Maldonia in a couple of days.”

“Unless Auradon decides to just ignore the treaties and come after us.”

“I doubt they know you're missing,” Ruby comforted her. “And even if they do discover it, we're long gone.”

“If they discover us, they'll know we're going to Maldonia,” Florica grumbled. “And Maldonia will only protect us until Auradon is aiming their cannons our way.”

“Then we'll go to Corona,” Ruby said, breezily. “Mom and Dad and Cassidy will protect us.”

“I can't go to Corona, Ruby!” Florica snapped at her. “Look at me!”

Ruby looked.

Florica tended to go around with her hood up, dark curls spilling out over her shoulders. Her fine, brown hands were hidden in her sleeves, or pockets, and she kept to the shadows.

“You know what my mom always talked about?” She asked, not expecting an answer. “She talked about her little sister. She talked about how she was going to go look for her, and find her, and make sure she was alright, and had everything she needed. She talked about how she would grow, how tall she would be, what colour her eyes were, how old she was, every birthday. She celebrated for you, she made sure the whole kingdom would celebrate for you, she made sure that gifts were sent for you, clothes, books.”

“I never got any of it,” Florica snorted.

“Yeah,” Ruby nodded. “Auradon made sure of that, and we didn't even know, until I asked Benjy-beast, and he acted like he didn't know what I was talking about. So I came for you, Florica. I came for you, because you're my aunt, you're my family, and you belong with us.”

Florica laughed, wetly.

“You don't know me,” she muttered. “You don't know anything about me.”

“I know you're ours,” Ruby squeezed an arm around Florica's too thin shoulders. “And that's what matters.”

...

Harry walked in the dark, along the docks. As usual, the streetlights were flickering, out, or dim. Where they shone, they glimmered off the rain, and the old, worn out docks, half garbage, half” ancient structures from before the barrier.

He'd run out after-

-after-

There'd been an argument. There must have been, there almost always was. Hook was drunk, and rageful with it, Harriet had taken the brunt for too long, CJ was the favourite, and Harry had a sharp tongue and not enough sense to know when to stifle it.

He wandered through piles of wood and boxes, and destroyed a few shoddily built shelters. They were empty, which surprised him. Usually someone would have come out by now, to tell him to shut up, or, ballasted by rotgut, try to fight him off. That was good for a laugh.

He was looking for Uma. He must have been. He usually was. They'd go and blow off steam. They'd pick some fights, or they'd throw rocks at the garbage barge guards, or they'd scrub at some hithertofore unknown portion of the _Lost Revenge._

“What's my name?”

“Uma!”

He ran in the direction of the voice, and found himself looking off the pier, into the shadowy darkness of the sea.

“What's my name?”

...

In her dreams, she was lost at sea, swimming for shore. It was dark, but there were lights in the distance, dim and flickering in and out.

She'd lost her tentacles, somehow, they'd been replaced by legs, and those legs were tiring. She paused and treaded water.

A voice, soft and indistinct, echoed across the waters.

She almost dove, to look for sanctuary under the waves, but something made her pause.

“Hello?”

Silence.

“Hello!”

Nothing.

Maybe she was saying the wrong thing. Maybe she was looking in the wrong place.

“Do you know me?”

She swam towards the lights, and they began to take form, a city, broken and old. Silent.

“Hey!”

The island rose high in her view, and she could almost make out the shapes of buildings, a drunken pile of wood masquerading as a pier, but a current rose, and she had to fight it, and it pulled her back.

“No, wait!”

She fought the current, and felt her legs split, the tentacles forming again.

“Wait!”

There was a figure out on the docks, moving among piles of wood, and she had to ask, she had to know.

“What's my name?”

The figure stopped, then ran for the edge of the pier, to her, calling out, but the water hissed and gurgled impatiently, pulling her away, and she fought it, fought herself and the urge to sink down, down into the safety of the black sea.

“What's my name?”

But it was too late, and she was gone.

...

Neverland was an odd place, here and there, in and out, back and forth. The middling faeries usually avoided it, and the greater fae respected the Pan's territory, so it was left for the small fae and their little tasks of balancing summer and winter, painting the sunrise and the sunset, and giving the daisies their colours and all the other tasks that the higher faeries thought beneath them.

The middling fairy in the cottage along the way(although which way it was depended on the day) often thought of the days to come, when she might write a book on the subject of the smaller fae and their place in the ecosystem. She thought about peace and she thought about a land where the rivers ran wild and the dragons landed on the tops of cliffs to trumpet the coming spring.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a sharp jangling at the door, and she ran, to see a little purple glow fluttering about the bells above the flower pots.

“Vidia?” She squinted at the tiny creature, who whirled in place before landing on her outstretched hand. “What is it, dear?”

Vidia took off, landing on her small medical bag, jumping up and down.

“Oh, dear!” The fairy slipped her shoes on. “Is it a bear? A deer?”

Vidia shook her head, tugging at her cloak, pulling her along the path.

_It better not be a shark,_ she remembered the last emergency with a grim amusement, looking at the scar on her hand.

The beach was small, and scattered with leaves, shells, and small rocks. Sweet streams of water poured into the shallow, blue lagoon, and the trees added a gentle shade.

She almost missed the children, who were almost in the woods, staring at her as if she were a mountain lion, come down from the hills for a snack.

“Oh,” she drew a hand to her cloak pin, and hesitated.

“Merryweather!” Silvermist spun up, scattering droplets of water in her wake. “Thank the water you're here!”

“Yes,” Merryweather lifted her skirts, and tried to smile reassuringly. “Well, let's see what we have here.”

And she was almost immediately halted by a sword, pointed directly at her heart.

“Not. So. Fast.”

She met the boy's dark eyes.

And boy he was, man to be, never anything else. The black fell dogs were gone, never to race death across the moors again.

“Please,” she tried to reason. “I mean no harm, Vidia said that someone was hurt.”

She hadn't, but her meaning had been clear enough.

“Jonas,” another boy, this one with yellow hair and not the slightest whiff of anything magical about him. “Jonas, if she can help Harry, we need to let her.”

“We don't need her,” Jonas' eyes went flat, angry. “We can take care of him ourselves.”

“We actually can't.”

Jonas whirled, and Merryweather took a breath as the sword left her throat.

“Gil-”

“He's dying,” Gil interrupted. “He's going to die, and then what will we tell Uma?”

“Uma's not here!”

“Do you really think she's gone for good?” Gil was sitting on the ground, Merryweather saw, and he had another boy's head in his lap. “But, you know, when she gets back, and you need to face her, I'm sure she'll understand.”

Jonas and he glared at each other for a long moment, and Merryweather scarcely dared breathe. But finally, Jonas moved away, and she went to the patient.

“Hello, Harry,” she brushed away some of his hair, and began to unwind the rough bandage around his head.

Someone had cleaned the wound, and performed some rudimentary first aid, no doubt helped by the natural anti-septic properties of sea water. But infection had settled in, and blood loss hadn't helped.

“What happened?” She asked, as she brought her bag around, and began to look for an anti-biotic and some herbs. “And put some water on to boil, please.”

A heavy blow from a mast, and not resting afterwards.

“He's lucky to be alive,” Merryweather sniffed. “What a foolish boy.”

“That's what I've been saying,” Jonas had apparently decided to put his hostility aside for the moment. “I couldn't get him to lie down, it was like he had to bring us here.”

She wouldn't be able to get him to take a pill, they'd have to inject the stuff and hope for the best.

“After I give him this shot, he needs to sleep in a proper bed with clean sheets,” she informed them. “And all of you and your clothes need a good dose of soap and water as well.”

“We washed!” A red-headed girl with a pug nose seemed insulted. “Twice, first in the lagoon, then in the river.”

“And now you can wash in a proper shower with a bar of soap and so can your friends,” Merryweather informed her. “As for your clothes, let me handle that.”

She finished rebandaging Harry's head, and stood up.

“Dust faeries!”

Viridian and his crew zipped over from where they'd been waiting by Tinkerbell.

“My cottage,” she gestured to Harry. “And the rest of you can follow me and get a proper meal and some sleep.”

“We had fish and berries on the beach already,” one of the young ones said. “And water, so much.”

“That's nice, dear, but you'll need some bread, too, to fill that out,” she thought about it. “And I have some pie, I think, and some cakes, too.”

“We're not going anywhere with you,” Jonas had apparently dropped all camaraderie at her brisk commands. “And definitely not away from our ship.”

Some of the children, whose eyes had lit up at the mention of cakes, looked a bit despondent. The others sided with Jonas, and began to make meaningful gestures to their weapons.

“If I wanted to kill you, I would have already,” Merryweather sighed. “You're all tired, sunburnt, malnourished, and generally not very healthy, it wouldn't have been difficult. But I'm not going to kill you. I'm going to feed you all what looks like the first proper meal you've ever had, and give you featherbeds to sleep on. Heaven knows you deserve it, after whatever you've been through.”

He still hesistated, and she sighed.

“I know what you are,” she told him. “I know what happened to the black fell dogs. Please, let me help you. It's been so long since I've been any help to anyone.”

...

She woke up tired, grumpy, and still nameless, pouting into her seaweed porridge at breakfast.

“You've got to eat it,” Grandfather told her. “It's got iron to help you get your strength back.”

She pushed it across the table.

“I don't have to do anything anyone tells me to do.”

“No,” her grandfather put the porridge back in front of her, and added a spoon. “You don't. But this is what's on offer today, and until you eat it, you're not getting anything else.”

She glared at him, and he smiled back, cool as a sea cucumber. For a moment she was enraged, and looked for signs of fear in him, anything that told him who she was, that she could strike him down in less than a second and-

_Is that who I am?_

“Sorry,” she muttered into her porridge.

“That's alright,” Grandfather said, and put a cup in front of her. “I'm not much without my morning coffee, either.”

“I don't even know if I've ever had coffee before.”

It didn't taste familiar, bitter and almost like it had been burnt. She made a face, then surprised herself by drinking the whole thing down.

“That's awful,” she told her grandfather.

He was laughing at her.

“Your grandmother said the same thing,” he told her. “She hated coffee, and she drank three a day until she died.”

She smiled. At least there was some history there.

“Do I look like her?” She asked. “Grandmother, I mean.”

Grandfather looked at her, a long, piercing gaze, then he nodded.

“Your eyes are different,” he told her. “Rounder. But your cheeks and your mouth are the same.”

It was an interesting feeling, looking like someone. She went into the grotto after breakfast and practiced smiling and touched her cheeks.

Grandfather did odd stretches that she couldn't quite follow with her tentacles. She watched him for a long time, and ran names over in her mind.

_Marina, Naomi, Rosamunde._

Rosamunde was pretty. She turned it over in her mind.

But it wasn't her name.

_Umi..._

That sounded almost...

No. That wasn't it.

“Your grace!”

A light voice rang through the reefs and caves.

“Your grace?”

Another voice joined in, an old woman, frail and tired sounding.

“Ah,” Grandfather straightened up. “Neighbours.”

She wondered if she should hide, and watched her tentacles take on the colour of the coral, and the hard, bumpy texture. Her skin stayed the same, though, and after some concentration, she was able to pull her tentacles back to their usual turquoise.

Two mermaids floated in, the old lady and a girl about the same age that she and Grandfather had decided she might be. The woman was as frail looking as her voice, but something in her seemed to speak of a stubborn wiriness hidden under her soft face.

The girl was pretty, in an undistinguished way. She had pink streaks in her hair, and they were the most noticeable thing about her, until she smiled. She lit the grotto up with her grin, and _Marinarosamundeumi_ watched her jealously from the shadowy cave she had spent the last few days in.

“Ah, Miss Scylla,” Grandfather smiled. “And little Lumina.”

“We missed you at brunch, your grace,” Lumina held up a basket. “Mother and Father wanted us to make sure you were okay and bring you some tuna cakes.”

“Tuna cakes!” Grandfather clasped the basket as if it were a precious jewel. “How well you know my heart, your highness!”

“Aunt Scylla brought some of her healing potions,” Lumina quietly helped her aunt to a seat. “We were worried you might not be feeling well.”

Grandfather gestured at her. “Actually, I had an unexpected gift arrive in my life.”

“Not another stray seal,” Scylla complained. “Honestly, for a man of your age, between feeding the catfish and that, you're lucky to be alive.”

“Is it a stray seal?” Lumina followed grandfather's hand. “Or a new parrotfish, or- Hello!”

She drew back into the cave, trying not to look as if she'd been listening.

“Hey,” she managed.

Lumina had the sense to stay outside the grotto, and Grandfather came over, looking far too jovial for his own good.

“Princess Lumina, this is my granddaughter,” he told them. “She's just come to stay with me after a bad injury, and I was wondering if maybe Miss Scylla could take a look.”

“You ought to take her to a doctor,” Miss Scylla scolded him, then came over, and joined the crowd peeping into the cave. “Come out, now, dear, we don't bite.”

Looking at the old lady, she doubted that, but obeyed her.

“Hmm, I don't see any injuries,” the woman frowned. “You could use about a hundred good meals, and some more iron. What happened?”

“Well,” Grandfather started to lie and he was terrible at it. “You see, it's been-”

“I was supposed to be on the Isle Of The Lost,” she interrupted them. “And Grandfather found me here.”

“You're one of the refugees?” Lumina asked, eyes huge with... something she couldn't identify.

“I don't know,” she shrugged. “I woke up after Grandfather found me, and I couldn't remember anything.”

“Nothing?” Lumina asked. “Not even-”

“I don't even know my own name, Princess,” she snapped, and Lumina withdrew, looking a little hurt.

She swished back in moments later, though.

“I'm sorry,” she offered. “That was stupid of me.”

“No,” she stared at her tentacles. “No, I overreacted, I guess.”

“Do you have a head ache?” Miss Scylla ignored their conversation. “Any pain in your neck?”

“No,” she let Miss Scylla turn her head. “No, I've just been tired.”

“Tired,” Miss Scylla sighed. “Your majesty, let me take her to Dr. Redmoon.”

“You see, Miss Scylla,” Grandfather began, but it was Lumina who interrupted this time.

“You don't need to worry, Your Majesty. No one in Pearl Kingdom would dare harm her. You're a hero.”

“I'm an old man, with no job, and a great deal of spare time.”

“I don't want to go to a doctor. I'm doing fine, just me and Grandfather.”

“Nonsense.” Miss Scylla went into the house, and her voice carried with surprising force. “You know that if anyone decided to be foolish enough to attack her in our company, at least ten people would step up to take care of the matter.”

“That is, if we didn't take care of them first,” Lumina spiraled up. “Let's go see Doctor Redmoon, Uncle King. He could use Sonar to look inside.”

They mostly had to persuade Grandfather, and he insisted she come with him, so in the end they did go.

The houses were set out in a spiral pattern, and Grandfather's was close to the highest. The colours of the city were soft, blues, pinks, and purples, that blended together. True to Miss Scylla's word, the only people who approached them were admirers, looking for autographs, shelfies, or just to be able to say they'd exchanged words with him.

She looked in the shop windows as they walked, and something about it infuriated her. There was so much stuff, all of it immaculate and well made. Something in her brought up a lumpy sweater, smelling of the rotten fruit that had been mashed in it, and she had to turn away, pushing down the urge to smash the windows.

“It's kind of weird the first time you see it,” Lumina whispered. “There's so much stuff, and so many people.”

She didn't think there were that many people. The streets were quiet, people swimming together in tiny groups, families and couples.

It was nice.

Doctor Redmoon was tall, and had a sea horse tail, which he used to hold up lights and other things he claimed would scan her.

“You need vitamins,” he said, after a moment. “More seaweed, more fish, more sunlight. Take her up to the surface for an hour everyday. Sonar!”

She was bumped from behind, and whirled, fists raised.

The whale wriggled in confusion, clearly surprised.

“Did he scare you?” Dr. Redmoon asked, already looking into something else. “He's harmless, just likes squeaking at merfolk, so we put it to use. Okay, Sonar. Go!”

The whale opened his mouth, and she felt a tickling sensation. He swam to her other side, and did it again. Four times in all, until he and Dr. Redmoon finished, and consulted with each other, to much shaking of heads and mumbling.

“Well?” Grandfather snapped.

“No head injuries,” Redmoon frowned. “No injuries at all, aside from exhaustion and malnutrition.”

Sonar wriggled and made a few squeaking noises, his huge bulk sending waves through the office.

“Sonar believes it's a psychological affect. In other words, the princess has suffered some sort of stressor that has caused her to repress her memory, not unlikely, given the recent influx of refugees from the Isle of the Lost. Given time, and gentle treatment, it will most likely return.”

“Most likely” wasn't “it definitely will” and Grandfather looked just as frustrated as she felt.

“It will take time,” Dr. Redmoon looked stern, and his tail curled up more tightly. “Honestly, this type of amnesia isn't very well understood. There isn't really a treatment that I'm willing to attempt, because those that aren't completely unethical are likely to be largely unsuccessful in recovering real memories, rather than fantasies.”

“I need to remember,” she thought of Grandfather, and mother, whereever she was, and- and- there must have been someone else. There must have been. “I'm not getting anything but flashes right now, and they're useless.”

“They're actually a very good sign, in my opinion,” the doctor said, making notes on his slate. “They mean your memories are still there. You just can't access them.”

He stopped, and, for the first time, looked her in the eye.

“Your highness,” he said. “Your memories will return, if, and I must stress this, if you are kind to yourself. Vitamins, sunlight, good food and plenty of rest. That's my prescription.”

Grandfather made her go to the surface with Lumina, while he and Scylla stayed below, to talk vitamins with the doctor. Lumina swam ahead, trying to call her up, but she clung to the reef, just below the surface, staring up at the glimmering waves of sunlight and the dusty, plankton laden blue.

“Come on, Princess!” Lumina dove back down, and took her by the hand. “It's not so bad, I promise.”

They broke the surface, and she nearly flew back down uinder the waves, shocked by the cool breeze and the bright, hard sunlight.

“I'd rather stay underwater,” she complained.

“The sun is strongest above the waves, though,” Lumina told her. “Oh, I'll race you to that island! The one with the trees on it, and the rock shaped like a sea horse.”

She stared at it, calculating.

“You're on,” she muttered, then threw herself back into the surf, while Lumina was counting down.

“Cheater!”

She had the head start, but Lumina swiftly outpaced her, bolting through the water like an arrow. It was her tail, it gave her the advantage over tentacles and spurts of water. She was exhausted by the time she caught up, and Lumina was sitting on a rocky outcrop, crowing.

“That's what you get for cheating, your highness!”

She glared at Lumina, then calmly tossed her back into the water.

Then it was... it was _playing._ Had she ever played before? This was unfamiliar, but nice. Lumina giggled, and tugged at her tentacles, darting away, until she tangled her in them and eventually they climbed up on the island together, and lay in the shade of some tiny, stubborn trees.

“Mmmm...” she sighed, and rolled over on the smooth pebbles. “I wish I had a tail.”

“I wish I had tentacles,” Lumina sighed. “But I'm still glad I'm me, and you're you. All my other friends are working these days.”

She raised her head and looked at Lumina, half-dozing in the sun. “Are we friends?”

“Of course,” Lumina yawned, and took her hand. “Any friend of King Poseidon's is a friend of mine.”

She thought about that, but only for a moment, then the heat and the sound of the waves overtook her, and she drifted off, hand in hand with the mermaid.

...

Harry was sitting beside his mum. She was small, but to his child eyes she loomed large.

“Oh, for a brave and a gallant ship, and a fast and favouring breeze,” she crooned, while the net in her hands almost repaired itself. “With a bully crew and a captain, too, to carry me over the seas.”

He handed her bits of string, and a shell he'd found somewhere, she smiled, crinkling her eyes, and kept singing.

“To carry me over the seas, my boy, to my true love far away,” she kissed him between words. “For he's taken a trip on a government ship ten thousand miles away.”

There was a noise from the other room, and the smell of rum and sea water. Mum rolled her eyes, and kept singing.

“My true love, he was beautiful, my true love he was gay, but he was taken away, on a government ship, bound out for Lost Souls Bay. He'd a government band around each hand, and another around his leg-”

“Shut up, wench!”

Harry and Mum ducked the empty bottle as it smashed against the wall behind them. Mum always laughed when that happened, and told him and Harriet that it meant they had something to trade at the glazier's, but this time she frowned, and counted some stitches, before continuing her song.

“He said, “will you be true to me, ten thousand miles away?” So blow, ye winds, high ho, a-roving I will go, I'll stay no more-”

“I said,” Dad actually came in this time, swinging a sword. “Shut up!”

Mum stopped, and glared up at him.

“Don't talk to me that way,” she said, voice soft and firm. “You never talk to me that way, James Hook, or I'll leave, I really will.”

“Will you?” Dad sneered. “And go where?”

Mum rolled her eyes.

“Amazingly, there are other places on this island than the Jolly Roger, Jamie,” she turned back to the net. “There's other people, too.”

“Hah!” Dad laughed at her. “Go ahead, see how far you get without me.”

“See how far _you_ get without _me_!” Mum retorted.

They stood in silence as thick and fierce as a storm, and Harry took up Mum's net, repairing the hole.

Then Dad got dangerous. Harry understood this danger, and began to sidle towards the door.

“Tell me, how did your journey go?” He asked Mum, voice turning rum sweet and solicitous. “Your trip “ten thousand miles away”?”

“Don't, Jamie,” Mum said, softly, firmly, and Harry saw her hands tighten into fists.

“This is what your true love got ye!” Dad dragged Mum by the arm to the door, to the pier, where the Jolly Roger listed dolefully, and the fleet sat in disrepair. “Here ye are, Zarina, ye daft wench! Here, in Lost Souls Bay! Are ye pleased, lassie? Are ye?”

“Yes!” Mum hissed, ripping herself free from his grip. “Yes, you fool. I am, I'm pleased, James Hook, I'm pleased!”

Dad stared at her and Harry froze, wanting to inch back behind the door.

“I'm pleased, Jamie,” Mum reached out for Dad, who flinched away. “Ten thousand miles away, my love. Ten thousand miles.”

“You daft bitch!” Dad threw Mum on the deck, and that was when Harry couldn't do it anymore.

“Leave her alone!”

He stumbled between Dad and Mum, and it was stupid, stupid, because Dad hooked him by the shirt, and drew back his hand for the slap, and Harry was an idiot, because Dad was wearing rings and all.

“Don't, James.”

Everything stopped. Mum's little knife was at Dad's throat, and everything was grey.

“If you ever touch my son again,” she told Dad, carefully pulling Harry free from the hook and pushing him behind her. “It'll be the last thing you do.”

Dad backed away, then left, but not before a parting shot.

“You'll make him weak, Zarina! You and your love, you'll get him killed!”

The sun was beginning to set, and Mum wrapped Harry up in her coat, sighing deeply.

“Your Dad is wise in some ways, my little pirate,” she told him that night, while they swung together in their hammock. “But he's dumb as shit in others.”

Harry fingered the glow in the dark stars Mum had scrounged from a garbage heap when he was little, and pretended not to hear her.

“Don't ever believe, Harry,” Mum made him look at her. “That love is weak. There's nothing so strong in this world as love. No curse, no spell, nothing.”

He pretended to fall asleep, and then he really did, until Dad came home drunk and he and Mum had another row. Harry went out into the blue light, then, and he found a girl with hair like the sea and like the moon on the water, and he knew Mum was right. There was nothing in this world as strong as love.

...

Harry's fever seemed to be going down, but what did Gil know? Merryweather said it was too soon to tell and told him to eat some soup and have some bread, and that after they'd all eaten their dinner, especially the vegetables, they could have some cake and some pie, and she might have cookies stashed away somewhere. Gil didn't care.

He sent Jonas to get everyone together for a shower and bed. Merryweather looked a bit surprised when she brought dinner to them, and they were all lying around, drying off in the sun.

“Soap and water, sun on high,” she waved her thin little wand at their piled up clothes. “Wash them well, and make them dry!”

Gil assigned Harry-watches and ship-watches in shifts, two to the ship, him, Bonnie, and Jonas to Harry.

“You're not a bad second mate, you know,” Jonas told him, around a mouthful of bread.

“I'm a fucking awesome second mate,” Gil retorted, then ate some of the pie. Mon dieu, he might never eat anything else.

“Yeah, it's just,” Jonas gestured. “The whole “s-word” thing.”

Gil shrugged.

“Uma,” Harry's head turned to one side. “Mum, I can't find Uma.”

...

“Have you checked the restaurant?” Mum was bent over a carving, a little pendant she might trade to one of the garbage ship pilots. Apparently it was the in thing in certain sectors of Auradon.

“'Course I checked the restaurant,” Harry rolled his eyes, but it felt odd. He felt off, as if something was wrong.

“The docks?” Mum held the pendant up to the light, and nodded approvingly.

“Been all over the docks,” Harry sighed. “Docks, chip shop, back ways, front ways, in and outs. Even been to the school.”

“Hmm.” Mum thought it over. “Have you checked the water?”

“Yeah,” Harry sulked. “She's gone.”

The sun was too bright. He reached for the dust in the light, and made it dance.

“Did you call her?”

“Been doing nothing but calling her, Mum, don't be daft!”

Then it hit him, and he looked up.

He and Mum were the same height. Actually, he was taller, and he never had been. Mum had collapsed quietly in a corner and stopped breathing when he was a boy, smaller than the youngest crewmate on the _Lost Revenge._

“Mum?”

“You're so tall, my Harry,” she reached out, and touched his cheek. “My little pirate.”

“Mum,” he shook, and turned his face to her hand. “Mum, I can't find Uma.”

“Just keep calling her, Harry-boy,” she told him, then turned his face to the sea. “Just keep calling her name.”

She led him out onto the docks, to the very edge, where the barrier shimmered.

“Remember her name, Harry. Remember it, so you can give it to her.”

The sea shimmered blue, and pearls tossed in the foam. He leapt off the dock.

“Uma!”

...

She woke up, still had in hand with Lumina.

“What is it?”

Lumina was blinking sleepily, and the sun was starting to go down.

“I heard someone calling me,” she said, looking around. “Calling my name.”

“Calling your name?” Lumina sat straight up. “Do you remember what they said?”

She thought about it, and tasted it, turning it over and over in her mouth.

“Uma,” it tasted good. “My name's Uma.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm aware of what Jane says re: the fairies, but there is a reason for it. I'm absolutely guilty of ignoring canon in many other areas, but not this one, okay?


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TBH, this is kind of a filler and backstory chapter. It also contains shitty parents being human beings who try to justify their behaviour, so take that as you will.

...

They were met by volunteers in outboard motors, with “Welcome To Maldonia!” emblazoned on banners at their sides, and one woman started crying before being loudly hushed.

“That way!” A man on one motorboat pointed to a pier that was largely decorated in Maldonian colours, bunting and balloons fighting for air.

Word must have got out, because a crowd of people was making their way down the pier as they docked. Florica hid deeper in her hood, and watched them running down. They were carrying bundles of cloth and trays of food and they were all ages and sizes, all the colours that humans and fae came in, even blue and green in some places, and disturbingly overflowing with glee.

“Welcome!” A woman grabbed Florica by the arms, kissing her first on one cheek, then the other. “Welcome to Maldonia!”

They were over whelmed, with no defences, forced to sit down and eat fresh, hot food, covered with soft, warm blankets that were barely necessary, and given hot cups of tea and coffee and lemonade.

“Everyone waiting here!” The woman barely spoke Auradonian. “Every day, we wait and wait for you, all Maldonia! We welcome you!”

Florica drank her coffee and looked for pointy teeth.

Ruby spoke Maldonian, and very well, so she spoke to the volunteers and made them back away, thank the gods. Florica looked into her coffee, and thought about how Mother had told her-

_She lied. She's a liar. She called me a liar, but she's the liar. I know the truth now._

“They're all up and down the coast,” Ruby told her. “Whole groups of people, waiting for refugees, but we're the first ones here.”

“Yeah.”

“There's a hotel down the road,” Ruby pointed. “They're going to feed us, then we're going to shower, and have some down time.”

“And all be in one convenient place, just so in case they need to round us up.”

Ruby stayed quiet, then reached out and took her hand.

“We have to take the chance, Flo. We don't really have a choice.”

Florica thought about it.

“Maybe it'll be okay.”

...

Jonas watched from the beginning of the dawn until the soft pink of the rising sun faded into the blue of morning. Harry called out for Uma, and stayed unconscious.

Jonas had fallen in with Harry and Uma by accident, which was unusual. Most of the time Harry or Gil brought her word of a likely recruit, and she went out to inspect them herself.

Jonas had walked up behind them absently, his brain on autopilot, which was stupid, as Uma later explained to him, at length. He'd been at the rag shop all day, washing bits and bobs that had come off the garbage ferries, until his hands felt like sand paper, and he hadn't even registered that the quarreling children up ahead of him were the infamous daughter of Ursula and her terrifying first mate. He'd just seen that one of them was much taller than the other and had just tweaked one of her bright blue curls, causing her to cry out. In anger, it turned out, not pain, but Jonas hadn't known that, and had taken advantage of passing by to cuff the boy upside the head.

“Pick on someone your own size.”

He woke up three hours later, with both of them crouching beside him, Uma grinning, and Harry scowling.

“You're one of mine, now,” she told him, and she never let him go.

Jonas was one of a number of kids who'd been transported to the Isle. Children, his mother told him, who'd been decreed irredeemable from birth, children of dark fae, of alien gods, and evil magicians. His mother would go down to the docks to beg and bribe a guard to take him back, but she never came back with anything more than bruises, and, occasionally, a small luxury from the rare, sympathetic Auradonian.

Most of them were quietly resigned. Head down, get the job done, go to sleep, live through another day. Some didn't bother. Jonas hadn't been sure why he did.

Then Uma helped him back up, and patted his shoulder. His head had spun, and he'd looked down into her stubborn, bright eyes, the smile she couldn't quite repress, and something had come back to life in him, something he hadn't known had died.

“I'm getting us out of here,” Uma would say, fourteen and bright with childhood and optimism. “We're going to be free one day, just wait. Just wait and see.”

Jonas believed her. He shouldn't have, but he did, like a fool, older than he had any right to be if he was going to take up with a pirate crew of children. His peers called him a fool, his boss at the rag shop shook her head, and he laughed at himself.

But Uma was something else. She was small, and you never noticed it, she shone so bright, like a star in the rare partings in the clouds. It was hard not to adore her for her own self, but she was clever, her schemes worked, her timing was as on point as the tides, and when she fought, blades whirling, it was like watching a dancer in the court of a king.

Malificent still held the garbage docks and the market at that time, and apples were hard to get hold of if you didn't like her prices. But Jonas was a market worker, and he kept his head down, so he managed to sneak off with more than a few, hidden in places he never discussed.

“Eat your vegetables,” Jonas told Uma, and tossed the apple at her.

“Where'd you get that?” She demanded, around a mouthful.

Jonas never told her. He just stole her hat, and made her chase him around the restaurant to get it back. It was worth it, even though Harry took all his socks and underwear and threw them in the alligators' den.

Uma said she'd get them off. She kept her word. She shone like a star, and she burned out.

Harry was following her.

Jonas looked out the window, at the bright sky and the green trees, and thought about the black dogs chasing death across the Moors.

...

Tiana served soup, and buttered bread, and gave out napkins and sugar cookies with cat faces on them, while Ada wrote down names and dates and nodded calmly. There was a little crocodile that had apparently been asleep on the barge when they stole it, and Tiana put her in her apron pocket and fed her bits of chicken.

“I like chicken.”

“That's nice, Sugar,” Tiana fed her another one.

“I like fish.”

“Uh huh.”

“I miss Mama.”

“I know, sweetness, y'all gotta be patient, we'll try and get you back to her.”

“I like chicken.”

“Here you go, sweetheart.”

“I like it.”

“That's nice.”

Jimmy liked the crocodile, and Tiana had to stop him from being nipped a couple of times.

“That's not a pet, James, now you go and give that little girl a cookie, alright, sugar?”

“Wike cookie?”

The little girl snatched the cookie, and hid behind her mother.

Tiana smiled at the mother, who looked stubbornly at the ground and chewed on her bread. She was thin and too pale, and missing some teeth, and Tiana wondered what happened that she brushed her baby's hands off her skirt instead of picking her up.

“They're all like that,” Ruby Sonnen told her. “Florica says that it's better to be tough than have to toughen up.”

“Are you new here, cher?” Tiana was in the middle of transferring the crocodile to a heating pad when the four of them came in. They didn't match the mixed up look of the Islanders. There was a girl and a man with the look of Moanans, and two other girls, one with impossibly long black hair, and a shimmer to her, the other with oddly white skin and hair, both strangely familiar.

“Sort of,” the shimmery girl looked around, and Tiana realized she wasn't a girl. She was a woman, much older than Tiana herself, although you couldn't see it until you looked into her eyes.. “We're meeting someone here.”

“Oh,” Tiana pointed to Ada. “Ada's taking roll, if you just talk to her, I'm sure-”

“Mom!”

Ruby flew in like a little sunbeam, all flashing gold and cheer, and that was when Tiana realized she was speaking to the queen of Corona.

“Oh, Auntie Elsa!”

Tiana almost dropped the lid to the tank on top of the crocodile, only just rescuing it and righting in time.

“Oh, Ruby, Ruby-Red!” Rapunzel pulled away from the girl, and touched her hair. “You dyed your hair.”

“I needed to fit in, Ma,” Ruby rolled her eyes. “Anyhow, I'm sorry I worried you.”

“I'm just glad you're safe. When the news broke, all I could think of was you being in Auradon.”

“Well,” Ruby rubbed the back of her neck. “I mean, I was kind of in Auradon.”

...

Elsa watched Rapunzel take her daughter off to one of the courtyards that dotted Maldonian towns and cities like flowers in a garden, then turned to Tiana, Princess of Maldonia, and Chef of Orleans.

“This is an unusual place to find a princess,” she commented, and the young woman's face hardened briefly before smoothing into a delicate, mildly friendly, politically safe semi-smile.

“My father in law is working to make sure there's a place for refugees to come to,” she explained. “I'm just trying to be as useful as I can.”  
“And the photo op doesn't hurt,” Elsa observed, then smiled innocently.

“You're the swamp.”

That offended the princess, and she whirled on Moana, who stared at her as if she'd never seen anything so lovely before.

“Excuse me?”

Elsa looked around for Maui, but he was showing off to a bunch of children.

“The liminal space, the twilight, the world between life and death.” Moana murmured. “The place between earth and water.”

Tiana stopped, blinking.

“I'm sorry?”

“Ah,” Elsa stepped between the two. “She's new, well, not new, she just woke up, she's been asleep for a while, a long while, things weren't as bright when she fell asleep.”

“As bright?” Tiana asked her, eyes narrowed in suspicion.

“Well,” Elsa squinted at her. “Things are... changing. You're not there yet. You will be, probably soon.”

Tiana nodded, and turned away, putting a large bowl of water in the tank with the alligator.

“I see,” she turned back. “You're Elsa, Queen of Arendelle.”

“Sovereign and first of her name, etc, etc,” she agreed. There had been other titles added in the last two centuries, but she had largely forgotten most of them. “I have to speak with your father in law, actually.”

“Well, why didn't you go to him first?”

“We were following the tides,” Moana said, cheerfully, letting her pet chicken crawl up onto her shoulder. “They said we should come here.”

“The tides said that, huh?” Tiana tightened her apron, and went and picked up a little boy who bore more than a passing resemblance to her. “Well, it's just as well. We're going to start dinner soon, and we always need an extra pair of hands.”

“I'm not that good at cooking,” Moana admitted. “But I can help with dishes.”

“I'm not much of a cook, either,” Elsa told her, and made a face over the other elemental's shoulder that she hoped would explain things. It didn't, but it got them away, into the kitchen, and Elsa explained sinks and the hot water tap to Moana, who caught on much more quickly than she had.

...

Lumina made Uma leave the house, usually by bribing her. Her other friends were all older, and her cousin was nice, but busy with studies. He'd shown up a time or two before, and was kind, if distracted. Lumina seemed fascinated by Uma, by having a friend who was available at all times of the day, and by Uma's own foggy past.

“Get some oysters for dinner,” Grandfather handed her some money in a sea green bag. “And get yourself some treats, you're still underweight.”

“Yes, Grandfather.”

Lumina knew the best places, or so she said. Uma wasn't sure shadow corals, complete with electric rays and fire anemones counted as “best”, but they were definitely fun. They swam with pods of dolphins, avoiding sharp teeth and slapping tails, and blackfish whales would come by and nudge them into playing.

“They like you,” Uma said softly to Lumina one day. Of course they liked Lumina, Lumina was as bright and friendly as her name, she was kind and good, all the things Uma wasn't.

“Don't be silly,” Lumina laughed. “They never went near me before. They like _you._ ”

Uma hadn't believed her at first. Then they started following her home.

They were following her today. A few sharks who nuzzled in next to her looking for belly rubs.

“What's wrong with your hair?”

She'd been tugging at it all day, feeling it itching and pulling on her scalp.

“I don't know,” Uma admitted. “It just feels... weird.”

“Maybe we should stop by the shop,” Lumina said. “Madame Ruckus knows everything about hair.”

“Madame Ruckus?”

“She's a cecaelia, like you!” Lumina urged her along a winding spiral of coral. “She'll know what to do about your hair.”

“Oh my goodness!”

Madame Ruckus had lavender tentacles, and rich red hair that complimented her deep brown skin beautifully.

“Child, what have you been doing to this hair?”

“Um...” Uma tried to read Madame Ruckus' expression in the mirror, but she just looked annoyed. “Nothing?”

“Nothing!” Madame Ruckus threw her hands in the air. “Nothing is right. You girls, you do the worst things to your hair, and then you come to me, expecting a miracle?”

Uma tried to get up from the chair, but one of the tentacles wrapped around her waist, and held her down, making it more humiliating to get up than to listen to the casual haranguing.

“That's not fair, Madame Ruckus,” Lumina popped her head over the other stall, where she'd taken an awed customer. “Uma's been sick, and we didn't know how long the braids were in.”

“Oh, Lady of the Sea, you poor little thing!”

The lady used her tentacles and her hands to unravel the braids, which, Uma had known they weren't growing that way, that they'd been woven from her hair, but to see them actually come out, was almost shocking.

It wasn't all her own hair, which surprised her. Bits of finely combed fibres that fell out as the braids came loose. What did surprise her was that the blue was her own colour, growing straight from her head, mixing with black in thick waves that began to curl more tightly as the weight of the braids was released.

“Alright, let's get you washed up.”

There was something sort of terrifying about leaning back over the sink, the older woman standing above, humming softly. Uma wished she had a knife, or something, something to hold onto, just in case.

She couldn't say where the feeling came from, either. Madame Ruckus, aside from that first little lecture, had been nothing but kind.

“Go and get this girl a snack, Lumina, actually, dip into the lunch fund and get something for all of us.” Madame Ruckus commanded. “We're going to have an afterschool rush in about two hours, so you guys rest up where you can.”

“Yes, ma'am!”

Lumina left her all alone. Uma tightened her hands on the arm of the chair and waited.

“Now, honey, you want more braids? A weave?” Madame Ruckus rubbed at her scalp, and Uma felt herself relax somewhat. “My recommendation is to let this pretty hair rest _au naturel_ for a while. Strictly minimal product application, lots of gentle treatment.”

“Oh,” Uma shrugged. “Okay?”

“Wonderful, now,” Madame Ruckus shifted to the side. “We're just going to have some lunch and finish up, just as soon as Lumina gets back.”

Uma stayed quiet. It seemed safest.

...

Dad had a way of sitting down and explaining things so that they made sense. He explained the Isle of the Lost that way when Ben was four, and protesters were picketing his school. He explained why it was necessary to annex Agrabah that way. He was trying to explain why slaughtering helpless civilians was one of those hard and necessary things right now, and Ben was surprised by the tone and the cadence, so much like his voice when Ben was four, and didn't understand why people thought putting bad guys in a prison was wrong, the necessity of arresting people who spoke out against his mother.

This was all a lot easier to understand when he was four.

...

“I got all the sushi they had at the Floating Island, and the McMillian's had irish moss jelly around coconut creams, so I got those, and Cora, I got you a salad, but it's not from me, it's from my cousin, but don't tell him I told you, okay?”

Uma's eyes were hidden under some cucumbers, so she could roll them in peace.

“Remind me never to tell you any secrets,” Sandrina was as sharp as a snakeline coral, and hard as nails. “You have a bigger mouth than a basking shark.”

Lumina must have made a face, because the whole salon burst into giggles.

“Here you are, child,” Madame Ruckus took off the cucumbers. “Now, let's wipe your face.”

Uma sat as still as she could, and let the older woman wipe away the cream she'd slathered her with, and put other tonics and stuff on her skin.

“There you go, pretty as a picture!”

“Let me see!” Lumina popped up over Madame Ruckus' shoulder. “I don't see the difference.”

“You wouldn't,” Madame Ruckus rolled her eyes. “But trust me, her skin is much healthier now.”

Uma poked at her cheeks. They still felt the same.

The sushi was wrapped in a bubble, a Floating Island specialty, the girls assured her, and the irish moss jellies were barely contained in a sea weed net. Cora's “salad” was a mass of floating flowers, and everyone teased her over it.

Fergus apparently made a habit of “surprises” that Lumina, accidentally(she claimed), ruined.

“But what if someone found out?”

Everyone blinked at Uma, and she realized she had somehow stumbled on the conversation.

“They don't really have to,” Cora blushed and the hot pink clashed with her hair. “They don't have to find out. Everyone, um, everyone knows?”

Uma stared at Cora. It would have been one thing if she or Fergus were bigger, or had poisoned fin tips, or something, but, frankly, Fergus was about as substantial as his favourite flowers, and Cora was as pretty and soft as a cloud.

“Isn't that dangerous?”

Everyone exchanged uncomfortable glances.

“No one would hurt Fergus,” Lumina said, gently. “And if anyone hurt Cora, they'd have to deal with Madame Ruckus.”

“And me,” Sandrina seconded. “And trust me, honey, no one wants to deal with me after the shark incident.”

Powerful protectors, that made sense, Uma thought, over a mouthful shrimp and rice. Madame Ruckus would protect her investment, and Sandrina would fight for her crewmate. As long as they paid up, in labour, or coin, they'd be alright.

“Here, Uma.”

Cora pressed a jelly into her hand, and Uma examined it, wincing.

It was bright green, and wiggled in her hands, giving only mildly under her fingers.

“Just try it, Uma,” Lumina urged her. “You'll like it, I promise.”

It looked a bit like an egg, Uma thought, then took a bite.

“Oh my waves,” she gasped.

“I know, right?”

The outside was tangy and sweet, nippingly sour, tasting as green as it looked. The inside was rich, and so soft and melting that she almost let it escape.

“That's so good,” she told them, once she was capable of speech. “That's the best thing I've ever had. What is that? How did they make it? Can we make it?”

“Not without a kitchen, honeybunch,” Madame Ruckus laughed. “Which the salon does not have, unfortunately.”

“You can have as much as you want, Uma,” Lumina handed her the bag. “I got extras.”

“You can have mine,” Sandrina made a face. “I don't like 'em.”

“I can't eat all this,” Uma laughed. “I'm full already.”

“You barely had four pieces of sushi,” Sandrina said. “You're gonna melt away if you don't eat more.”

“That's what Grandfather says,” Uma made a face. “And the doctor.”

“I'd be saying that, too, if I was your grandfather,” Madame Ruckus scolded her. “You have just one more of those jellies, girl, then Cora's going to do your nails, and Sandrina and I are going to do a little make up, try and get you back to your old self.”

“My old self,” Uma thought about it. “I don't even know who that is.”

“Now's as good a time as any to find out,” Lumina told her. “And it's never too late.”

...

When she'd been a girl, much smaller than Uma, her mother had taken her deep into the darkest cave, into the deepest part of the ocean, as deep as anything with a backbone could go.

There, in the darkness, a crowned woman, a caecelia with a proud, beautiful face, sat, facing the entrance, a silent, eternal guardian, golden trident raised protectively.

“Uma,” Mother had raised her with her tentacles, presented her to the stranger. “Mother of all, she who brought forth the waters, she who brought forth the squid, the scorpion, the shark, she who begat the Storm, she who formed the land, Uma, mother of all, I bring you Ursula, daughter of Candace. Receive her in all things, Oh Mother, bless her in all endeavors.”

The woman hadn't moved, which had offended the baby self, the adored princess of all Atlantica.

Then mother had explained statues and baby Ursula had felt sorry for the woman.

Uma had never been brought before the ancient goddess, the eldest one. The ocean was shallow, from here to Auradon, and around the Isle it was filthy.

Ursula had been pretty and pampered. Beautifully fat, luscious, with thick purple curls that her maid combed with such special care. She looked just like her mother, and she was adored for that, too.

“Like a lovely pearl,” her father said, tenderly.

And Triton had hated it. Hated her.

Half brothers were curious things, she thought, later. Her mother had been decieved by his father, her father had been deceived by him. She had been deceived.

Caecelians were common, once, in Atlantica. Rumour had it they were magically gifted, naturally adept at the arts.

“Don't be silly,” Aunt Julipa had laughed at her once when she asked about it. “Caecelia are only just as good as anyone else at magic, and no one's that good at it, anymore.”

Ursula had been. On top of everything else, she'd been clever and tricky, especially when it came to deals.

“For a lock of hair, you'll shine for an hour.”

“For a scale from a dragon eel, you'll have the power to charm your mother in law.”

Nothing dangerous, nothing filthy. Just little bits and bobs.

But when he'd come, when Triton had begun, it hadn't been enough.

It had started as whispers. Things started going wrong. They'd always kept the shipping lanes safe, but pirates were breaking past the barriers, storms were breaking ships in half. Triton had made soft noises, then spread rumours behind their backs. The caecilians were responsible for this. The sea witch magic was the reason for the loss of revenue, either it failed due to their incompetence, or due to their trickery.

Triton had comforted her when she had to wash garbage out of her curls, then told everyone in a secret meeting to spread pamphlets detailing her weakness. He cajoled and coerced, made promises.

The attack came at midnight. She'd been woken up by explosions, and shouting.

Triton came. They were under attack. He was trying to hold them off, with his powers, but he wasn't strong enough. He could do it. He could keep her safe, but she had to get something for him, something that would give him the power he needed.

The trident. Uma's trident.

And, like a fool, she'd trusted him. He'd been cold to her when they were children, but hadn't he warmed up? And surely he couldn't be any kind of traitor?

It had been difficult to drag the trident from the statue, and she'd finally resorted to breaking the hand, supposing she could fix it later. Then drag it up, up the winding tunnels, the long, dark corridors, to Triton's waiting hands.

In retrospect, it must have been funny. Triton snatching the weapon from her, and his tail slap back down into the darkness, the door slamming in her face.

At first she'd thought it was him protecting her. She'd waited in the darkness, pounded on the door. Then it had gradually set in. She was trapped there.

She'd gone back to the statue, and apologetically tried to put the hand back together, then she left, swimming through the darkness alone.

She'd emerged into a new world. The caecelians were fleeing, or had already gone, the horsetails were following them, sharkshifters and selkies with them, whale-folk and crustacea, all of them, spilling out over the borders like an overflowing pot.

Triton, King of Atlantica, had no room for them in his kingdom. The few who stayed were restricted in their homes and workplaces, in their learning and their love. The caecelians died, the rest of them stayed small, low, deep in the water.

At first she raged. She expected resistance, she expected help, but the truth was...

Triton owned the sea. He had made marriage alliances, he had garnered support, he had taken the trident( _and she had given it to him_ ) and no one could stand against him. Pearl Kingdom, bordering Atlantica, had closed its doors to trade with their neighbour, and given shelter, but their small, standing army couldn't do anything to help her.

So she settled in. She stayed in the tunnels along the border, she returned the letters her father sent, unopened, with the messengers who had braved the dark and the silence to find her.

Triton did nothing. At first she was surprised, then she realized that whatever little deals and cantrips she had hold of, she could do nothing against the trident. He had the power of the ocean, of Uma, and Ursula tried to pretend she hadn't given it to him.

She would never sit on the throne of Atlantica. Her old life was gone, it would never be returned to her.

But revenge? That, she could take.

It started small. Deals with desperate merfolk, a sick child, a lost lover, little bits here and there. At first she didn't ask much.

Then more, and more, quietly filling her necklace with power, power she used to throw off the trade routes Triton had stabilized, to fill the air with devastating storms.

Then, like a gift, Flotsam and Jetsam brought her the mermaid. Triton's daughter, fallen in love, first with the world above, then with the prince who ruled there. It was marvelous, wonderful, like finding a pearl in the filth of a river delta.

And, well, yes, in the end it had gone wrong, and she had failed, but had anyone come so close?

Awakening on the Isle had been a shock. At first she'd thought she was still dying, then she realized she wasn't, then she realized she was in a lagoon, surrounded by the other underwater people.

The day to day tasks of survival had taken priority, building a life, and trying to understand what had happened. What had followed was living that life, trying to ignore the ever-present television, and the barrier.

The child had been unexpected. She had occasional dalliances, and this hadn't been any different. A pirate with a charming smile, and a kind touch. He'd been killed not long after, but she had barely known him, could hardly recall his name.

At first, she'd adored the child, openly. She walked early, she talked early, she had perfect little hands. The feet, well, maybe that was just the barrier acting on her. It had been a shock, how much she loved the little thing.

She named her “Uma”. Maybe as an apology, maybe in the hopes that the blessings she'd rejected be bestowed on the child. It wasn't a common name amongst underwater folk, but neither was it popular.

Then she'd found the child being lured away by a pirate, and after the man had died, she looked at the girl.

She had large eyes, innocent and trusting. Her dress was patched, but it was clean, and she had a pearl on her headband.

In other words, she looked loved and well cared for.

She cut off the hair, first, clipping it as short as her rusty scissors could get. Then she told her she was old enough to help in the restaurant, and that she didn't need decorations to do that. Then she put the girl to bed, and wept alone to herself in the lagoon under the restaurant all night.

But it would help the girl survive. So she stopped repairing her clothes, she was old enough to do that herself. If she wanted to eat, she knew where the kitchen was. When she came home crying and covered with rotten fish, she left lemon soap in an accessible alcove, and told the child she was foolish for trusting anyone.

The girl grew hard. She grew angry, and she raged, sometimes to no point, to the point of blood without reason. She was jealous and hateful, and she was alive.

Sometimes Ursula would sneak upstairs, and into the girl's room, just to watch her sleep. She slept curled up around herself, wrapped in her own arms. She generally wore her hair back under a scrap of silk to sleep, and she looked younger.

No one thought much of Ursula, off the docks, and she supposed the child had suffered a bit because of that. Maleficent, who ruled the Isle as she'd once ruled the Moors, was untouchable, so, by extension, her child was as well. Ursula's girl had to fight for her place, and she fought hard.

_“Should have been a princess.”_

Sometimes, rarely, she thought of the girl, wearing the pearls of royalty, surrounded by adoring subjects, safe from the toils and dangers of this place, of the upper world.

But it hadn't worked for Ursula. The girl was strong. She'd make a name for herself.

The boy, Ursula had thought he would be a problem, at first. Then he'd proven himself loyal, all through the shrimp fiasco, and then he'd accepted a part as the girl's lesser. He would do. At least until he didn't, and then he'd find out how long Ursula's tentacles were.

Mal had always been a selfish brat, so it wasn't as much as a surprise to her that she reneged on her mother's promise as it was to some others. The temptation of food and fresh water, let alone the luxury that Auradonian nobility lived in, would have tempted the strongest soul, and the lackluster mischief makers that had been taken across the barriers could hardly be called that.

The girl had thrown a tantrum the likes of which Ursula had never seen. Dishes had been smashed, chairs and tables splintered. Ursula wondered that she'd had that much faith in her former friend. Surely the brat had done nothing to deserve it.

She'd pulled through it, though, and, like the quick child she was, she seized the first opportunity she got for vengeance.

Ursula regretted that she hadn't left the lagoon then, crawled through her tunnels to the ship, wished she'd made a point, or at least been there to help the children, but she'd been so sure that her girl would succeed, that her little crew would win the day.

She hadn't counted on the decades of malnourishment and lack of sunlight, the dampening effect of the barrier, not just on magic, but on the mind and body, slowing reflexes and dulling wits. She hadn't counted on it, but she should have.

Then the barrier had fallen.

The girl had done it. _Her_ girl had done it. Where Maleficent's brat had failed, Ursula's child had succeeded, had broken the barrier.

Uma had fulfilled all the promise she had been born with.

Ursula whispered her daughter's name into ocean, sent it out with the tides, sent it flying along the current, sent it to the four corners of the seas. She shouted it into the storm and the winds, while Auradon sent its soldiers and sailors and Atlantica roared its ugly head.

And as she spoke, everyone else began to say it, too, began to sing it, shout it, roar it. It began to travel, and even as Ursula was restricted to the Isle of the Lost, too well known to flee, or hide, she knew her daughter's name, the ocean mother herself, was flying far and wide.

_Soon..._

...

Harry ran along the pier, making the ricketing structure shake even more, chasing the sea while she raced before him, trying to catch up to her. She laughed, and leapt from board to board, ran up and down the barely fastened down ramps, and jumped on and off ships. Harry though the pier would fall down if they kept on as wild as they were, but it didn't.

“Wait for me!” His child self called out to the sea, but she ignored him, and ran on, and he kept after her. He couldn't even get angry, too full of running and sunshine and blue skies.

The pier came to an end, though, sudden and shocking, and she leapt off, into the blue waters.

“Wait for me!”

But his child self couldn't swim, and so he clung to the pier, and watched her disappear beneath the waves.

“Come back!”

...

Merryweather ran a hand through the boy's hair. He looked small, and she was reminded of one winter evening, when Aurora had tossed and turned in a fever and she'd very nearly disobeyed Flora's rule to work up a healing spell.

Of course, those spells only did so much good, as the boy's continued state indicated so well.

“Eat your breakfast!”

“I am, I'm not hungry,” a child whined.

“You can't waste it.”

“I ate so much, tho.”

“She has a little stomach, Jonas, leave her alone.”

She would have expected much more hostility, given the appearance of the children and the little bit of their history she'd managed to glean from some of them. No food, no care, nothing but the drive for survival, and an almost spiteful desire to live in spite of a world telling them to die.

_Flora, what have you done?_

Tinker Bell came in, fluttering over the boy, her tiny expression unreadable.

“Is Peter here?”

“There's a new Lost Boy,” the pixy said. “He's not going to be here long, but Peter wanted to give him an adventure with Tiger Lily.”

“Ah.” Tinker Bell wouldn't be needed for that. “Are you alright?”

Tink shrugged.

“Will he wake up?”

“I think so,” Merryweather looked the boy over. “He seems to be recovering, as far as I can tell.”

“What do you suppose is happening out there?”

Merryweather hesitated.

“I'm not sure.”

“How often do kids get like this out there?”

Merryweather thought of Aurora, and shook her head. “Preferably they don't.”

“But it happens sometimes.”  
Merryweather dipped a cloth in cool water, and bathed the boy's face. After a while, Tinker Bell flitted out the window, and she heard giggles amongst the children outside.

“Wait,” the boy stirred in his sleep. “Wait for me.”

...

“Watch it, squirt,” Chad shoved her rudely, away from a young man carrying a bundle of swords. “You need to look where you're going.”

“Sorry,” Dizzy clung to her books, and felt as if she'd never be able to stop staring at the school, the colours, the bright sunlight, the green gardens. “Sorry, Chad.”

“What are you doing to her?”

Evie swooped out of nowhere, in a flourish of blue and gold.

“I'm giving her a tour,” Chad snorted. “The squirt got lost after breakfast, I found her in the garden.”

She'd been sobbing her eyes out, sure she'd be sent back, even though she hadn't meant to get lost, it was an accident, all the doors and hallways looked the same, and the map was impossible to read, the more she looked at it, the more lost she got.

“What's the matter with you?”

The voice was soft and disdainful, and the tones were comfortingly familiar, the way an Islander might say it, even if they wouldn't say it. So she'd wiped her eyes and admitted her fault, even though she shouldn't have.

“Oh,” the boy laughed. “You're Evie and Ben's charity case. Come on.”

He snatched the map from her, looked it over, and rolled his eyes.

“You don't even have regular classes,” he snorted. “That's just private tutoring from Mr. Mori in the Blue Room. Come on!”

He'd left her there, and gone onto his own class, and Mr. Mori hadn't even yelled, just asked her some questions about math, given her some papers, and even sat right beside her to help her with them. She'd been terrible, but Mr. Mori told her it didn't matter, she'd be good once she caught up, and given her practice sheets to take with her.

Chad had been outside again, and he'd taken her to the Purple Room, where Professor Lemon taught her to make exploding burst of purple powder, then how to drop an egg out a window without breaking it, and let her _take the egg_. Then Chad had been outside there, and taken her to literature, where Mr. Katzenberg told her that her grammar was atrocious, and made her write out three hundred lines, given her exercises, and sent her out, making noise about how Isle kids were a worthless investment and wouldn't amount to anything. Chad had been outside that class, too, he'd given her a candy and told her to stop blubbering and boasted about how good he was at tourney and how he would take her to a game, and possibly she could join the cheerleading team, once she was older, and less of a loser.

Chad was almost like home, like a more crass version of Anthony.

“Well, she doesn't need your “help”, anymore.”

Evie swept Dizzy away.

“I'm sorry, I didn't mean to abandon you,” the older girl sighed. “There's just been so much going on, and I lost track of time.”

“I understand,” after all, Evie was really important here, even more than she'd been on the island. “He really was just helping me, Evie.”

Evie made noises, and took her into a huge room, full of tables and chairs, and...

Food. So much food, it overflowed bowls and trays. Grapes, apples, and thick slices of some pink fruit, huge as anything, bread, bread as white as snow, meat still bleeding red juices, cheese with the rind still on, cakes and cookies of all kinds, and things she could never have imagined.

Evie helped her fill her tray with everything, fill it until she could barely carry it to a table where Jay, Mal, Carlos, and a few Auradon kids were sitting, giggling and talking.

It was heavenly. The bread was fresh, no weevils, no bits of mold to pick out, covered with a soft creamy stuff, the fruit was firm and lovely, bursting with juice, the meat tasted of spices and itself, no salt or smoke, and she was allowed to eat all the cookies and cakes she liked. Evie told her all the names, and made her eat slowly, which was for the best, because in the end she managed a few bites of everything, and felt like she would burst.

Afterwards she fell against Evie's shoulder, yawning. Evie just moved a bit, and let her rest.

Food, so much food. Dizzy was used to sharing a bowl with Mother, and even though Mother tried not to eat very much, Dizzy always felt empty. She thought this might be her first fully belly ever.

It seemed unfair, though. She had enough food that when Jay and Carlos stole some from her, it didn't matter. She'd been hungry her whole life, and food here was almost meaningless.

She didn't say so, though.

“How's Ben doing?”

Mal shrugged. “His parents are keeping him in his room. They're worried about, you know, assassins.”

“But they're going to let you see him, aren't they?” Evie asked.

“Sort of,” Mal shrugged. “We have to have guards. The Queen says it's so no one tries to accuse me of anything.”

“That's smart,” Evie said. “I mean, it sucks for you guys, but after the cotillion I can't blame them.”

“Do not attempt to adjust your set. Do not turn off your tv.”

Dizzy sat up, feeling tension run through Evie's body.

“Come on, Doug, come and fix the TV!” Chad called across the cafeteria. “The play offs are on!”

“I'll give it a try,” Evie's boyfriend left the table, and made his way across the room.

The TV was flickering over a symbol, a fox's head, crowned by two arrows, white lines moving over it. For a moment, as Doug examined it, the image was replaced by the game, then he jumped back, hissing.

“It shocked me!”

“Sit down, Douglas Bergman.”

“What the hell?”

Doug sat down, paling.

“Don't bother changing the channel, either,” the voice chuckled. “You're going to see what you choose not to see.”

The picture flickered and changed, and that caught Dizzy's attention even more, because it changed to home. In fact, she could see her house.

“What the fuck is going on?” Jay shifted uncomfortably.

“I don't know,” Mal looked terrified.

“Dizzy,” Evie started, but Dizzy ignored her.

“That's my house.”

“I know, but maybe we should-”

Her home exploded into fire, so quickly that Dizzy didn't even have time to scream.

The Isle was burning.

The image pulled back. There was a date in the corner, a day or so ago.

Just after she'd been taken to Auradon.

“Mother!”

“This video has been shown all over the world. It shows the massacre carried out on the so-called “Isle of the Lost” by the United States of Auradon.”

The camera moved away. Dizzy had grown up with Marrit Smith, how was it that she was falling now, her chest pierced by a crossbow bolt, her dress stained with blood, her limbs lying limp and awkward? How had that happened?

“What is that?”

“Well, they're bad guys, right?”

A girl in a pink dress was looking around, worriedly.

Marrit wasn't a bad guy. Marrit was hard and spiteful, she had to be, but she wasn't bad. She shared her woolen sweaters with Dizzy when it was cold, and she gave food to Old Annie when the woman couldn't make it to the barges to scavenge. She wasn't bad.

“That doesn't mean we can just kill them,” That was another girl in pink. Why did so many wear pink? That one had decided on a blue stole that clashed horribly with the lacey dress.

“Dizzy!” Evie had picked her up, like she was still little. No one had carried her anywhere since she was three. Dizzy was strong, she worked hard.

“Let go,” she tried to fight free.

“Get her out of here,” that was Jay, he looked so angry. Why was he so angry?

“You can't ignore this, Auradon.”

The image changed, and she saw Auradonian soldiers, with trebuchets and crossbows. Islanders, carrying swords and molotov cocktails. Kids, some running, some fighting, and people of all ages dying.

The image changed again. A piece of dirty paper.

“The children of the Lost are being taken.

Being killed.

Being starved and left to disease

Tell the world.

Over fifteen thousand men, women, and children

being slaughtered by Auradon.”

But that, Dizzy thought, was nothing new.

...

“Flo!”

Florica was getting dressed again, this time in a clean hoodie and jeans.

“We clean for you,” a woman with a lovely blue scarf covering her head had assured her. “We bring back, okay? Okay.”

Her permission hadn't been needed, in the end. But the clothes they'd left her were the softest she'd ever worn, no holes, no patches, no stains.

“Flo!” Ruby pounded on the door. “Come on!”

Ruby's blonde hair was wild around her when she opened the door.

“Finally! Did you drown in there?” She pulled Florica by the hand. “Come down to the garden!”

She let Ruby pull her down the stairs, into the little green courtyard behind the hotel. Florica pulled at her hood as it began to fall back, and seeing this, Ruby stopped for a moment and put her own scarf around Florica's neck to help keep it in place.

The courtyard was nearly empty. A little floor of tiles, some gazebos here and there, and benches, and all over the place, flowers.

A little woman sat at the end of the courtyard, playing with some roses. She was little, and dark, with impossibly long hair, and at first Florica wanted to run and hide.

“Mom!”

Ruby pulled her to the end of the garden, to the little woman that Florica knew.

_“She put me here, she put you here, she's spiteful, wicked, and cruel. Just like the Isle. You stay here, little flower.”_

_“You're a liar, mother. You're a liar. Ruby told me the truth, Ruby never lies.”_

The little woman looked up, smiling.

“Who's this, Ruby-red?”

“Take down your hood,” Ruby turned to her. “You don't need to be afraid. She's been waiting for you. Please, Florica.”

Florica hesitated, then pulled her hood back.

The little woman gasped.

“You're-”

“I'm Florica,” she tried to be defiant, but her voice shook. “My mother was Gothel.”

The little woman touched her face, and her hand was warm and gentle.

“I know,” she smiled, but there were tears in her eyes, and running down her cheeks. “I'm your sister. Your older sister. I'm Rapunzel.”

“She likes plant names, I guess,” Ruby joked, but Rapunzel didn't seem to hear her, and Florica took no notice.

“I've been waiting for you,” Rapunzel drew Florica down, and folded her into her arms. “Ever since you were born. I'm so happy to see you.”

Florica wondered, for a moment, if she was lying, then decided it didn't matter. This felt like home.

...

There were wooden beams, but the ceiling was white washed, just like the walls, with dried bouquets of flowers at every turn. It was an old woman's house, Harry thought.

Gil was fast asleep next to him.

His head hurt.

There were stars out the window, and he stared at them. They looked different than on the charts, more real. The North Star showed clear, where before it had been flat and dull, and there was the hunter, there was Draco. Suddenly it looked real, and it made sense.

“Uma.”

But she wasn't here. He would have known if she was.

“You know the name of the sea.”

A little light spoke to him, and for a moment, he was sure he'd hit his head harder than he'd thought. Then it came closer and reformed into the shape of a small, dark haired woman, with a long scar on one cheek.

“Aye,” he held his hand out to her, and she landed, like a dew drop. “My captain has the name of the sea.”

She curled up, examining him.

“That's the first name the sea ever had. Merfolk gave it to her, or she told them. No one knows for sure.”

“Mum told me that.” He looked out the window again. “Where's my crew?”

“Sleeping,” the fairy told him. “Merryweather said they need to rest.”

“Merryweather,” he frowned. “She's in Auradon.”

“No, she's here,” the fairy said, shaking her head. “She's been here for over twenty years.”

“Then who's in Auradon with her name and face?”

The fairy shrugged. “A changeling? You can make them out of wood and flower petals.”

He smiled, and shook his head.

“I'm Silvermist,” the fairy told him. “And you're Zarina's son.”

“Aye,” he cocked his head, a bit surprised. “I am. You knew my mum?”

“Of course!” She giggled. “Zarina was the best dust fairy in the Hollow!”

“Dust fairy?” he asked.

“Of course,” Silvermist waved her arms, as if indicating something. “I'm a water fairy, Tinker Bell's a tinker fairy, Zarina's a dust fairy. Where is she?”

He hesitated. “She's gone.”

Silvermist dimmed a bit. “Oh.”

Harry looked out the window, into the dark. There was a faint glow off in the distance.

“What's that?”

“The Home Tree!” Silvermist buzzed up, vitality restored. “I'm surprised you can see it, it's glowed so dim these past few years.”

“It's pretty.”

“Yeah,” Silvermist sighed, fluttering over to his shoulder and snuggling in next to his neck. “I'm glad you're home.”

...

“I wish I were a bosun bold, or even a buccaneer. I'd build a boat and away I'd float, straight for me true love steer-”

“Hook.”

It was past curfew, and there should have been no way for her to leave the shop, leave the docks, climb aboard. Yet here she was, drawing herself up, shedding the colours and textures of the deck, and looking on him with a cool disdain.

“Princess,” he greeted her, around a mouthful of rum.

She laughed, and looked over her shoulder, at the black water.

“It's been a long time since anyone called me that.”

“I'll wager it has,” he agreed, and joined her at rail, offering the bottle as he did. “Nigh on two decades at least.”

“Longer,” she took it, which was his first surprise, and took several large swallows without twitching an eyelash, which was his second. “Far longer.”

“The girl's still gone, isn't she?”

The witch smiled, and it was pretty.

“Did you expect her to stick around?”

“Truly?” He shrugged. “I did. I didn't see her as the type to run from a revolution.”

“I think she's done enough,” Ursula told him. “She's done more than you or I ever did.”

He sighed, and looked out over the harbour. The wrecks of old ships, cannibalized to the bones to build houses and docks, the delusional, patched remains of a fleet that would sail nowhere. It had taken much persuasion to stay aboard the _Jolly Roger_ , to convince the king's men that he was just an old sailor who could no longer sleep on the land. Even so they'd taken Harriet and CJ from him, the former with her head held high, the latter with many a backward glance. He'd not seen the boy in near a month, when drink and temper had left the lad with a split lip and a mocking grin, and part of him hoped to never see him again, just as he hoped to never see the girls.

The damned hook ached, phantom pains from a hand that was long since crocodile shit. His knees and his back were shot, and he was damn near sure that his liver was nothing more than a barrel of rum itself by now.

He finished the rum, and smashed the bottle on the deck.

“Well,” he sighed, and straightened his hat. “What did you have in mind, Princess?”

...

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ugh, had some computer problems and I’m having to post this from my phone. Sorry about that.

  
Harry fell back asleep with Silvermist curled up on the pillow beside him, and woke up with a raging headache and a fussy fairy standing over him with a bright light. She asked him questions that Jonas pointed out he wouldn't have known without a head injury, then he proved his hand to eye coordination by throwing a small, painted rock at the older boy.

 

“I think you're well enough to sit up in bed and have some tea and soup,” the fairy told him. “I'm Merryweather, by the way.”

“Merryweather's in the Moors,” Harry told her, remembering the report on the princess and her fairies.

“So I've been told,” she responded, dryly. “Now have some tea.”

“Rather rum,” he grumbled.

“Well, you're certainly not having that,” she advised him. “I've put a little sugar in and some lemon, though.”

It wasn't actually terrible, and he managed to keep it down, which meant he could have broth and some toast.

The glowing tree was barely dimmer in the daylight, and unlike the sun it didn't shift with time and leave him alone as afternoon wore on. No one else could see it, and Jonas rolled his eyes and made him move over so he could sleep next to him. Gil just nodded, and watched him breathe, which was creepy as hell.

  
Silvermist disappeared like her namesake, as the morning moved on. She was replaced by a smaller, yellow and dark fairy, Iridessa, who squeaked and woke him up every time he tried to sleep, sure that it would be a final nap, until he told her off, with Gil's more restrained assistance.

  
“That wasn't nice.”

  
He knew this one. It wasn't just his father's drunken descriptions, more and more detailed as time passed by, but a pen and ink sketch done in drunken hand. Her face was like a flower, hair as gold as a dying leaf, eyes like blue stars, Harry could recite every line by heart.

  
“A sick man needs his rest.”

  
“You're hardly a man,” she snorted. “Barely more than a boy, still a boy, at that.”

  
Harry almost laughed at that, laughter that had left better men than his father pissing themselves in fear, but something stopped him.

  
“My father said you were like a flame in the night,” he told her.

  
“I don't care what he had to say about me,” she declared, tossing her hair carelessly, then glanced at him from under her bangs. “What did your mother say?”

  
“She never talked about you,” he fingered the fine lace at the edge of the quilt, and shrugged. “Never mentioned any of it.”

  
“Ah,” Tinker Bell shrugged.

  
“Maybe it hurt too much to talk about it,”  
He and Tinker Bell looked at the window, where a small group of multi-coloured fairies, glowing like wisps, had huddled together. They fluttered a little closer, glaring at him reproachfully.

  
“I don't know how she felt about it,” he shook his head. “She never talked about it, and I never asked. All Dad ever talks about is Pan.”

  
Out the window, the night air spread cool and sweet breezes, and insects, birds and frogs chirped happily to each other.

  
“Was she happy?” Tinker Bell asked.

  
Harry thought about it.

  
“Do you know about the Isle?”

  
“Jonas told Merryweather about it,” a purple fairy said, wrinkling her nose in distaste.

  
“It sounds awful,” Iridessa fluttered into the air, wringing her hands. “The dead brought back?”

  
“They just expect you to eat their trash?” That was a brown fairy, fists clenched.

  
“No sunlight?”

  
“They just left you all like that? Even the children?”

  
“What do you think they did after they took the Jolly Roger?” Harry exploded. “What do you think the Royal Navy does when they take a ship?”

  
The fairies fluttered into a swarm, glaring at him.

  
Tinker Bell broke away, and swooped right in front of her noise.

  
“Your father attacked us! He tricked Zarina, he tried to destroy the tree!” She punctuated herself with a small, pointed finger.

“He used everything he could to destroy us,” she wrapped her arms around herself. “Even our own selves.”

  
Harry knew that look.

  
“Aye,” he agreed. “He's good at that.”

  
“Zarina packed a bag, filled it up with dust, and stowed away on the navy ship. No one ever came to tell us what happened next,” Tinker Bell landed on the bedpost. “You understand, don't you?”

  
There was this strange pressure against him, as if some invisible force was pushing at his side, and he did understand, in some small way.

  
“She wasn't unhappy,” he thought about Mum, small, and pretty. The story was that as soon as the barrier went down, she popped into existence, but his father had somehow known her, and they'd immediately had a row that rocked half the isle, and hadn't spoken until Harriet's mum had dropped her off at the Jolly Roger and walked into the mouth of a crocodile. Then Mum had taken up Harriet, and half the captain's quarters on the Jolly.

  
“I don't know if she was happy.”

  
She smiled more than anyone else on the Isle. She laughed, she carved little toys for him and Harriet and even CJ when she'd been left on the doorstep. She sang and walked like she was dancing, and when he was an inch away from sober, Dad used to smile at her, and touch her so gently, as if she was made of glass.

  
“I think she was as happy as anyone could be,” he told them, finally. “She was smiling, and she took good care of us, even Dad. She loved us.”

  
“What else?” Iridessa asked, settling on the quilt.

  
So he talked. He talked until his throat was dry and sore, and Gil, who'd snuck in while he was talking, went and got him more tea and came back with Jonas and Bonnie, and then others snuck in, staring at the fairies, and listening to him.

  
But he'd started, and he couldn't stop. He told them about his first memories, about his mother looming large to the child he had been. He told them the hard and the good, and the day to day. He told them how she mended nets, how she built castles on the small pebble beaches. How she sang, all day long, sometimes the only music on the isle. He told them about her hair, her eyes, her grace with a sword, and how she was as mad as anyone, prone to laugh and cry in the same moment. 

  
He told them how she killed a man that went for his dad, and that she'd spat on his corpse, He told them how she'd taught him to fight, taught him her foot work so he could make it his own. He talked about how they tried to read clocks and star charts, and laughed themselves silly when they both failed. How they got lost together in the few small wilds on the isle, wandering for days until they got home.

  
He talked until the sun began to paint the sky with pale yellows and blues.

  
“My mom never said she was a fairy,” he finished up. “We knew. But she never said.”

  
“Maybe she didn't know how to say it,” Iridessa sighed. “I don't know how she grew. We're small, even without our magic.”

  
“There must have been more than a dampening effect on the Isle,” one of the fairies, who wore an odd, thick set of spectacles, volunteered.

  
“Must have been,” Harry groaned, then held out his hand to Tinker Bell. “Come here.”

  
The pixy hesitated, then fluttered over, sitting in his palm.

  
Harry hesitated, thinking of the sea, of pearls and foam, of deep, deep blue.  
“Tell me about Mum.”  
...  
Zarina had died. She must have fallen during the plague, the time when fairies were dropping like mayflies. Everyone had clung to each other, clung close to the tree.

 

_I don’t believe in fairies.  I don’t believe in fairies._

  
That little Wendy-brat must have told them, or something, or maybe they'd just known.

 

 _I don't believe in fairies_.

  
Zarina had been a dust fairy, a keeper and guardian of the dust.

  
“She loved your father,” Tink began. “That's why she went with him.”

  
Zarina, Zarina, the only one who'd ever left. The only fairy who'd left the Nevernever, the only fairy to cross the sea, to sail with pirates on the great waters, or, at least, the only one to go alone, and to never return.

  
Tink never understood why Zarina loved the pirate. Even Tinker Bell had only seen him as a means to an end.

  
“Fairies are born from a child's first laugh. Zarina's laugh must have been very special.”

  
Tinker Bell hadn't yet been born when Zarina had come, so she started from her beginning, when Zarina delivered her dust, and started her off.

  
She had smiled so kindly at Tink, and Tink had felt so comforted in those first few days. While she searched for her talent, and a way to change it, Zarina often said small words of encouragement, coming back to her after another day of failure felt like coming home. This was before Tinker Bell knew what home was, or what a real talent could do.

  
“She was the first one to really understand what dust could do.”

  
Sleeping dust, singing dust, exploding dust.

  
“But the first time, it didn't work out.”  
And when you take a small fairy from her talent, she fades. Everyone should have known that, especially when she left, like an apple blossom in summer, drifting away without anyone noticing.

  
Lesser fairies don't usually tend to self examination. Life is simple when you're smaller than most people's hands, you don't tend to hold onto things, even grudges and sorrows.

  
James Hook knew what he was doing when he netted Zarina. Even if she was a lesser fay, her powers were more than a human could ever dream of, her gifts, and the promise of more, made playing the long game worth it. Her resentment at being removed from her passion made her easy prey for a charming young man who was used to cajoling much more worldly prey.

  
When he betrayed her, it was a shock no human could understand. Betrayals among the lesser fay had been small, tiny things that were easily resolved. Murder, theft, the loss of honour, these were anathema to Zarina's people.

  
Yet, she had loved him. And, in the easy way of fairies who stand no taller than a hand, she forgave him, returned to him from time to time, for adventures and rum, which he served her in a thimble.

  
The Royal Navy had been a surprise. The NeverNever was a forgotten world, outside maps, in and out, up and down, east and west, north and south, everywhere and nowhere. It wasn't supposed to be found.

  
But Hook had found it, and that, Tink supposed, had been that.

  
So perhaps the Royal Navy shouldn't have been a surprise, after all.

  
They'd timed their visit well, Peter had been off on one of his adventures, a boys only affair. Meaning Tinker Bell and the others had been left behind. They'd been playing in the Mermaid's Lagoon, flitting over the water, touching it and taming it, playing with Tick-Tock, who clicked affectionately at them. It had been idyllic.

  
“They sent the middling fairies first.”  
The tree had been the first casualty, burned away by some uncaring wand, the fairy dust slowing and stopping.

Then Lord Milori, who fell to the same fire.

It was a slaughter, an ambush that no one could ever have expected. They filled the Mermaids' Lagoon with blood, and swarmed inland.

  
“I went for Peter,” Tinker Bell remembered the fury on the great fey's face, before his childlike nature covered it. “Zarina went for your father.”

  
“She wanted him to help,” Iridessa said. “And he did. For her sake.”

  
He'd brought the Jolly Roger, all the cannons and all his men, to a trap.

  
“They didn't even care about your little tree, did they?” Harry snorted. “It was him they were after. The gentleman pirate.”

  
All his men, his cannons, to Triton's army, to the Royal Navy, the middling fairies, they'd been nothing. Their swords, their bows, nothing. The Auradon forces had cut them down like a scythe though wheat.

  
“He tried to get them to kill him,” Iridessa added. “They said he was too wicked to die.”

  
The boy laughed, and Tinker Bell couldn't blame him.

  
“Zarina cried for days,” she finished. “Well, we all cried, it was a crying time.”

  
“But Zarina wouldn't stop crying,” Iridess added. “And one day she took a bag of food, and dust, and she just left, with Tick Tock.”

  
The ocean was vast, and the journey was long, but Silvermist made arrangements to follow, as soon as the dust tree recovered from its near burning, as soon as the Hollow was green again, as soon as the bodies were buried, it wouldn't be long.

  
Then the plague came. Fairies dropping like flies, and only one thing could do that.

  
I don't believe in fairies.

  
...

  
“Harry,” Gil waited until the fairies had left, flitting away like bugs. “What did they say?”

  
Harry's head shot up and he stared at Gil.

  
“Couldnae ye hear them?” He asked, staring.

  
“They just sounded like bells,” Bonnie told him, grinning. “Pretty, though.”

  
“It was nothing,” Harry lay back, watching the dark woods. “How they caught Hook.”

  
There was a moment of silence. Drunken sot though he might have been, Hook was still feared and respected, especially along the docks. 

  
“Did they pay in blood?”

  
That was Desiree.

  
“Aye,” Harry nodded out the window. “Fairy blood. And still paying. The little ones are dying.”

  
Everyone knew the old story. Hook told it as a grim warning, and dangled little ones who dared to say the phrase in his hearing over the sharks, or threw them into Tick Tock's den. The old reptile did little more than flick his tail in their direction these days, but it was enough that the words were never spoken on the docks, at least.

  
In Auradon, however, science was the word of the day. Magic was kept under lock and key, displayed as a curio from an ancient past.

  
Gil shivered, thinking of the little purple light that had buzzed away so fiercely on their first night.

  
“That's horrible,” he said, trying to stomp it down, Harry had been dying. Harry had been dying, and the little ones had fetched Merryweather themselves, had helped carry Harry here.

  
Harry shrugged.

  
“There's nothing we can do about it,” Jonas sighed. “We can't stop something that comes from ten thousand miles away, invisible and without warning.”

  
“Here you all are!” Merryweather bustled in, followed by a tub full of hot water, and a screen, a bundle of things that Gil recognized as clean, linen clothes. “Have you been up all night?”

  
She began to shoo them out.

  
“Go off to bed, try to get some rest, you silly geese. You, too, young Gilbert, off to bed.”

  
“No,” Harry took Gil's hand as he started to get up. “Stay here. With me.”

  
Gil glanced at Merryweather, who sighed, glanced at the heavens, and nodded.

  
“Alright.”

  
Harry looked at the tub, then.

  
“Not in the bath, though,” he said, firmly. Then he fell as he tried to get up.

  
“I'll just help you in and out,” Gil told him.

  
It was a long bath, and Gil had to keep peeking to make sure Harry hadn't drowned.

  
“He'll feel better afterwards, and he can get some sleep,” the fairy told him, while they quickly stripped the sheets from the bed and the cover from the duvet. “Poor lamb, he's had such a time.”

  
Jonas said “poor lamb” sometimes, but usually to make fun of people.

Merryweather said it like she meant it.  
Gil helped fluff up the pillows.

  
“Why are the little fairies dying?”

  
Merryweather paused in putting a pillowcase on.

  
“People want to forget the old ways,” she said. “The great fey, the elementals, the witches, the sorcerers. People want to think they can control things.”

  
Gil nodded. He knew how that felt.

  
“To have a fairy come down from her tower, to face her curse, or his wrath, just because they can, just because they want to,” Merryweather shook her head. “The great fairies began to disappear. At first, I thought it was the weather, computers, the change in humans. Then Flora disappeared.”

  
“Oh,” Gil stared at the bed. It was really nice, the kind of thing he'd dreamed of when he was young. A nice home, clean sheets. A wife, a child, boy or girl wouldn't matter. “I'm sorry.”

  
Merryweather nodded.

  
“She found a place in the court of the Beast King,”

  
“Oh,” Gil frowned. “That's good?”

  
Merryweather sighed.

  
“The great fey have always been strange. The Enchantress loved good manners, hospitality was sacred to her. But she had no sense of subtleties, no comprehension of humans, how they changed and grew. Her rewards were great. Her punishments were terrible.

  
“And after what happened to Aurora,” Merryweather sighed, looking to the past. “Flora grew strange. She spent all her time worrying about it happening again, searching for a way to make sure it didn't.”

  
“The great fey are gone, aren't they?”

  
Surprised by the question, all Gil could do was shrug.

  
“We only got news by the TV, and they never talked about it. Maleficent got turned into a lizard, and she was the only one I knew about, Oh, and the Godmother!”

  
“The Godmother?”

  
“Yeah,” Gil smiled, relieved that he knew something. “She made the barrier around the Isle of the Lost.”

  
“She made the barrier?” Merryweather frowned. “That seems so unlike her.”

  
Gil shrugged.

  
“Hell and damnation!”

  
Harry's expletives were accompanied by a splashing noise and a thud, and Gil jumped and hurried around the corner.

  
“Not one word,” he warned Gil, from his sprawled out position on the floor. “Not unless you want to be pumping bilge and gutting fish for the rest of your days.”

  
“Uh huh,” Gil rolled his eyes, and helped Harry into the new pyjamas. “Whatever, Harry.”

  
He managed to get Harry back into bed, and under the covers. It was mid-morning now, but Harry's eyes were already falling shut. Gil made to leave him, only to have Harry take his hand in a surprisingly strong grip.

  
“Stay.”

  
And so he did.

  
...  
In her dreams, she always looked over her shoulder for someone. Tonight was no different. She trapped her hair in a silk cap, and lay down, falling instantly asleep.

  
She had legs this time, and stood on land, no, a wooden floor without walls, a pier. She was watching something, someone.

  
“That little Tremaine bitch, she betrayed us.” a voice from behind her, but when she turned, she couldn't see him.

  
“Do you have proof, or do you just hate her?”

  
“Where else would she have gotten the colours?” Harry asked, voice growing calmer, smoother. Reasonable. “Who else would have given it to her?”

  
Her dream-self considered it.

  
It made sense, but...

  
There was something. She was supposed to do something. There was a book in her hand, and she was supposed to-

  
Return it? No, that wasn't it.

  
“Uma!”

  
It was name and praise and love and worship all at once. She turned again, and still, she couldn't find him.

  
“Uma!”

  
Now she caught a glimpse of blue eyes, wild and fierce.

  
“Uma!”

  
She woke up. Lumina was sitting on her bed.

  
“Good morning!”

  
“Go back to bed!” Uma threw her pillow at the other girl. “Ugh!”

  
“I brought you coffee,” Lumina giggled. “Aaaaand moss jellies.”

  
“Hm.” Uma sat up, hands stretched out greedily for the coffee. “Gimme.”

  
The jellies were delicious, and soon the morning didn't seem quite so daunting. Until she left her room, and Grandfather was there with a bowlful of seaweed porridge.

  
“Do I have to?” She whined, and Grandfather shrugged.

  
“This is what's for breakfast,” he said, firmly. “So, no, you don't have to, but you're not getting anything else.”

  
“Ugh,” Uma ate it all, and scraped out the bowl. “Can I be excused, now?”

  
“Not so fast,” Lumina protested. “I love your porridge, your Grace.”

  
“Thank you, Lumina. What lovely manners you have.”

  
“We're going up to the surface to comb our hair.” Uma told him. “I have to get my sunshine in, Grandfather. The doctor said.”

  
“So he did,” Grandfather agreed. “Well, just make sure you take a lunch, and come back for dinner.”

  
“We will,” Uma promised, then surprised herself and him by embracing him.

  
The islands over the Pearl Kingdom were many and varied in size and populace, but were mostly free of humans and fae. Uma and Lumina would beach themselves on the smaller ones, where birds and trees clung to a tiny, rocky life.

  
“It's nice here,” Uma said, soft and surprising herself.

  
“It's so nice,” Lumina agreed, fiddling in her bag. “Now, can I do your hair today?”

  
Uma shrugged, and let Lumina do her thing, soaking in the sunlight, eyes closed and face to the rays. Lumina had gentle hands, and she used too much oil, didn't tug on Uma's curls at all, and she used pretty pearls that she kept with her all the time for no apparent reason.

  
It had been...

  
Uma thought it had been a week, or maybe more, since she woke up here. Time didn't really exist, she thought, in this world of sleep, and gentle conversations about the past, and Lumina and Grandfather and nothing else. It was like Pearl Kingdom was the entire world, and she never had to worry about the outside again.

  
“Finished!” Luimina held up a mirror. “Do you like it?”

  
Uma stared in the mirror, and laughed. Lumina had twisted her hair into a coronet, complete with pearls and shells.

  
“I look like a princess,” she giggled.

  
“Well, you are a princess,” Lumina pointed out. “I mean, in exile, but still.”  
Uma never thought about it, and she dismissed it today.

  
“Let's go to that island,” Lumina pointed. “The big one over there.”

  
They raced across the waters, and, as usual, Lumina was in the lead. Tails were faster than tentacles, and it wasn't like Uma was jealous, but she wanted to win for once. For once she wanted to put that snooty little wi-

  
Lumina's my friend. She shut the other thoughts down. Lumina's my friend, she cares about me. She's my friend.

  
But she still wanted a tail.

  
If I had a tail, I could go faster. No one could catch me if I had a tail.

  
It wasn't like anyone was chasing her.

  
...

  
Sherwood was huge, and most of the trees that stood there now had been old when Robin Hood was a boy, had stood through countless generations of kings and queens.

  
They were dying now.

  
The small cuts had taken down enough trees that the rest were dying, root system disrupted, torn apart. The forest was dying, and no one was to blame.

  
Well, someone was to blame.

  
But it was a shadow.

  
A logger cuts down a tree, the logger strips the trunk, the logger loads the tree on a truck, the trucker drives it to a lumberyard, the lumberyard cuts the tree into planks, the planks are sold to stores, the stores sell to anyone, everyone is just getting paid, and no one is to blame.

  
Loggers have families. So do truck drivers. So does everyone else.

  
They looked out the window, into the trees. The dying woods, the dying work. What the clear cuts and the small cuts hadn't taken, the fires were reaching for, hungry flames spurred on by hungry entropy.

  
The fires hadn't reached them here. They waited, quietly, signals bouncing off stars, off distant satellites, off rogue technomancers.

It wouldn't be long until they came for them. And by then they'd be long gone.  
Robin Hood had died, hunted down by barons and aristocrats, hungry for a reward from their new crowned king. It had been nearly a millenium ago.

  
But hoods never really went out of style, and outlaws never really went away.

  
...  
The thing about it was, Merryweather thought, leaning out her second story window, looking for puffs of seed in the wind, the thing about it was that they were children.

  
They were savagely innocent, in their enjoyment of everything. Merryweather gave them cookies, and they gorged themselves. She conjured new clothing, free of patches, holes, and stains, and they strutted, proud as little peacocks.

She'd finally had to conjure a new bathroom, more hot water tanks, because the sense of being clean on a regular basis was so foreign to them that they sometimes bathed twice a day.  
Yet, there was always this sense that they felt undeserving of all this. As if they were indulging because soon they'd be locked away from it all again.

  
“Hello, dear,” Merryweather would say, and be met with suspicion, wary eyes and pursed lips. Yet, save for checking on their ship, they never left, save for roaming the woods, they never left. They stayed, and Merryweather woke up to gifts of deer carcasses, baskets of fish, and handfuls of slightly mashed wild berries.

  
She felt as if she was learning to herd cats.

  
A windstorm broke her turbine one day, and two of the children climbed up to put the blade back on before Merryweather could draw her wand.

  
“Be careful!” She was fluttering, an odious, pixy-like habit that her mother had tried to scold out of her when she was a girl(many centuries ago), but none of them could fly, and if something happened, she would never forgive herself.

  
“We're fine,” Bonnie laughed. “I climb higher than this on the Lost Revenge!”

  
“Hold onto the fan, Bon-Bon,” Gonzo grunted. “Let me just- There!”

  
They both hopped down, leaping from one ladder to the next, giggling.

 

. Merryweather landed beside them, and put a hand to her chest to stop her fluttering heart. In the pasture, Buttercup and Blossom shook themselves in quiet acknowledgment of the windmill's soft burr, neither dislodging their giggling pirate passengers.

  
“Mamselle Merryweather?”

Young Gilbert was weaving his way through the strawberry patches, hopping over the occasional obstacle.

“Mamselle, Harry wants you.”

“Harry ought to think better,”

Merryweather shook herself in irritation.

“What is he doing awake?”

  
It had been several days since she'd found them at the slumber party, but she couldn't shake the feeling that Harry had to sleep. Had to, as if staying in bed, curling up around himself, clutching Gilbert's hand like a lifelime, could erase near two decades misery.

  
Gilbert looked at the sky, as if the blue held the message he'd been sent with.

  
“He said he's been sleeping too much lately, but he'll bloody well try to sleep again if it makes you come and tell him what you want for all this shite.”

  
“Ah,” Merryweather sighed. “Give me a moment, dear.”

  
She came up with three cups of tea, expecting that one or two of the other children would be in the room with Harry. Gil had ordered Gonzo and Bonnie to take some down to the ship to watch over it, and then gathered the rest to go hunting in the woods, so she thought it might be Jonas.

  
It was. She could hear them in the room as she approached.

  
“-Wish it was me.”

  
“I'm glad it's not. Uma would kill me, if it came to that.”

  
“It should be me, I'm the first mate.”

  
“Shut up, and help me with this. I haven't done it in forever.”

  
She sighed, and knocked on the door.

  
There was a flurry of whispers and a yelp.

  
“Just a minute!”

  
She waited, flicking her wings together, popping on and off the floor, hoping it wasn't what it sounded like.

  
It wasn't. It was worse.

  
...

  
There was something awful about watching Harry, still a bit too weak to really sit up, looking naked without his jacket and his millions of belts, try to coolly make his offer, while the fairy went first red, then white, then faintly blue.

  
“No, no!” She shook her head and spilled her tea. “Why would you-”

  
At that point, Jonas tuned her out, looking into the mirror behind her. He was vaguely surprised by his own reflection, and the soft smudges of eyeliner that Harry sucked at applying, even on other people. He was putting on weight, he realized, regular food and no fighting to the death.

  
“You're children, Harry!” Merryweather squeaks. “You might think you're grown, but you're children, I promise you, and I- I can't believe-”

  
Which was where she cut herself off.

  
“No,” she shook her head, and tears began to trickle down her cheeks. “No, I absolutely can believe it.”

  
Jonas snorted, and smudge the eyeliner until it was a little more even.

  
“I just can't understand it,” Merryweather righted her tea cup, and seemed to calm down. “But, Jonas, Harry, no. That's not- I would never ask that of you.”

  
“Then what do you want?” Harry snapped. “Is it me? Because I'm still a bit-“

  
“No, Harry,” Merryweather pulled out her wand, and remade all the tea, and cookies popped out of thin air.

  
Jonas took the tea, and felt sick when he looked at the cookies.

  
“I don't want any of you, or any of that,” Merryweather sat on an old chair with curved runners for legs, and sighed.

  
“I want you to rest,” she told Harry. “To get well, and to be happy.”

  
“Bullshit,” Jonas laughed at her.

  
“Jonas, no!” Merryweather put up her hand, looking as if her heart were paining her.

  
Jonas nudged a lace-covered chest with his toes. It was full of little girl's clothes, pale blue and lilac, with lace collars and hems. The kind of thing you kept as they were outgrown, things that were thrown out a generation or two later, and wound up, stained and ripped, along the docks, sold for food or booze.

  
He thought about Uma, and about lace, and about the sun that made the sea sparkle at the edges of the barrier.

  
“Maybe you don't want something now, but you're going to want it later.”

  
Reggie had let him grow up before asking for more than a hand around the shop, Tom Green never lost a chance to remind him he owed him for Reggie, and Miss Redpenny had wanted him to owe her on an unspecified favour.

  
Uma had slit Miss Redpenny's throat when she came around for that favour.

  
_“I got no time for pimps,” she said, leaning back on the rails, while the sharks turned the water red with the corpse. “They never pay up._ ”

  
Uma had never asked for anything in return. She knew he'd give her his all for that. Still, she never asked for it.

  
And maybe she never would have.

  
“We'll need to take a chance on that,” Harry surprised them both. He flushed when they turned toward him, and glared at the cup in his hands.

  
“Well, we have to,” he reiterated. “We had to start taking a chance somewhere's, Jo.”

  
“We've taken too many chances, lately,” Jonas surprised himself. “We've taken chances, me and Gil, while you've been up here sleeping, because you're an idiot who never listens and gets himself nearly killed for it.”

  
Harry nodded, and lay back against the pillow, looking pale and wan.

  
“Aye, that's my doing,” he agreed. “But it brought us here, Jo. We're safe, as she'd want us to be. We'll get strong here.”

  
He raised a trembling hand.

  
“The tree...”

  
And he fell silent, shrugging.

  
Jo sighed. Merryweather clucked irritably and started scolding them both.

  
“Go to bed, Jo,” she ordered him. “It's been a long day and a long night for all of us.”

  
He shrugged, and climbed in beside Harry.

  
“I'll stay with him,”  
Merryweather hesitated.

  
“Alright,” she said, finally, and left them with a candle burning.

  
...

  
**“They Left Us To Die, But We Didn't Do It Fast Enough For Them** ”

  
_Armando Bienfrere, Orleans Herald_

  
_“You can judge a country by its prisons,” is a common refrain in Orleans._

  
_“Whatever you do to the least of my brethren, you do to me,” is another._

  
_Maldonia is a great country, stretching across much of the eastern equator, until it meets the sea. It's known for its scenery, its food, and, most recently, for joining with Orleans in a controversial decision to open its borders to refugees from Auradon's Isle of the Lost._

  
_“They used to call it the Devil's Mouth,” Damian has no last name, and he lights his cigarette with far too much skill for someone of an indeterminately young age as he is. “The old folks said that. Because there was a volcano there.”_

  
_Damian tells me he was born on the island, that he was drawn up from the dirt and filth of the streets, and he never had any parents._

  
_“We can't find a next of kin,” Director Salman says, as she rushes through paperwork. “Maybe if more refugees arrive.”_

  
_It's doubtful that more will come. The crackdown on the Isle made it out, despite the efforts of Auradon's censors, and anyone who didn't die in the initial blaze seem to have been effectively cowed._

_Auradon maintains that the massacre was an attempt to protect the world from the “evils” of the Isle._

_Damian, having sprung from that self-same pile of dust and misery, doesn't seem so much evil as larcenous. In our five conversations, I've come away missing a watch, several coins, my fake wallet, and a toy airplane._

_If Damian's a danger to anything, it's to chocolate, ketchup chips, and personal property._

  
_Damian shows me around the little refugee camp, and introduces me to everyone, claiming that he knows everything I need to know about the island, and that he knows everyone worth knowing. I don't need anyone else, according to Damian, and I find myself wondering if he's ever had the full attention of an adult before._

  
_I ask Damian if he went to school. A few times, when he could._

  
_His favourite subject? Pickpocketing._

_He didn't get good grades, because he had to be absent so often to practice._

_Now he goes to a school in town, and he plays football in Gym, his new favourite._

_His home? A board with a can in it, to light fires in._

_In the refugee centre, Damian has a real room, with a real bed. He sleeps under the bed, in case anyone sneaks in, and keeps a small stash of food, he won't say where._

  
_Damian is small. He has curly black hair, and big brown eyes. His skin was ashy when he first arrived, but it's starting to glow a healthy brown. He's missing some teeth, and whenever the refugee centre attendants see him, they give him juice and cookies._

  
_I came to Maldonia to meet the refugees, to try to get a story about human kindness and courage._

_The reality, of course, doesn't sell so well. The Isle was a prison, after all, with all that entails._

  
_My parents left Auradon not long after Adam Florian was crowned. At that time public sentiment had turned against republicans in favour of the royalist return, and they deemed it prudent to begin again in a new city, as far from the new king as they could afford to go._

_In time, they sent for my grandparents, their siblings, and everyone else they could remember associating with._

  
_My Aunt Susan, in the meantime, had published an essay condemning the new queen's taste in literature, Not long after, she was sent to the Isle. She'd been found guilty of conspiracy to overthrow the government._

  
_It would be nice to think that everyone on the Isle was like Aunt Sue, a mild revolutionary with the decision-making skills of a suicidal hamster, but it was a prison. Violence is a part of Damian's life, as his troubled teachers sometimes lament, and his first reaction to almost any trouble is to pull an improvised weapon on the other person. He's not the only one._

  
_“Is this a prison?”_

  
_A man is violently raging at a nurse when I come in on a Monday. He isn't allowed to leave, another refugee has told them his past, as a rapist in Auradon's city of Vert De Leon. In light of that, a single act over ten years ago, he's being kept in the centre until he can be evaluated by medical personal._

  
_“Fuck, I don't know what happened, man, I can't remember that night,” the man smokes, like Damian, who avoids him carefully. “I was drunk. I thought she was fine with it, but I woke up the next day with the cops on the doorstep.”_

  
_The woman had been viciously brutalized. In fact, she had barely survived._

_But rape is one of the few acts that go beyond the pale for the Isle, and the man had the scars to prove it._

  
_“We want him out of here,” a woman tells me. She has pointed ears and pointed teeth._

_“Like, fuck, we're bad, but he's worse. Ran with Ratcliffe's gang along the eastern docks. Bad news.”_

  
_But in Maldonia, rape is a symptom of a far worse disease. A few days later, the woman sees me, and tells me the man is gone. She doesn't know where, and it worries her._

  
_“They told me they took him to a hospital. He wasn't sick,” she clings to herself, and waits for me._

  
_“Don't you have hospitals on the Isle?”_

  
_“Naw,” Damian pops up under my arm, having been sent home from school for fighting. Again._

  
_“They just-” The woman stops herself, and shrugs. “They left us to die. But we didn't do it fast enough for them.”_

  
_..._

Lumina sometimes worried that she was hurting her parents.

She didn't try to, but she worried about it, about having Aunt Scylla in the home, the palace.

Mother and father told her she wasn't, that they weren't hurt, that they wanted Scylla there, but she knew that sometimes, when she went to Scylla for lunch, when she called for her after nightmares, it must have hurt them.

  
Uma agreed with her.

  
“Thanks,” she rolled her eyes. “I was hoping you could make me feel better.”

  
Uma adjusted her newly purchased sunglasses, and grinned at her.

  
“I dunno what you want me to say,” she said, her dry, soft voice brushing against Lumina's ears like a morning breeze.

“Why wouldn't they be hurt?”

  
“That's not your problem,” Uma added, lying back down. “It's theirs.”

  
“But maybe it is my problem,” Lumina fretted. “Maybe _I should try harder, or, or_ something.”

  
“It's not like you asked to be almost killed by your uncle, and kidnapped, and hidden away from them. They know that.”

  
Lumina shrugged.

  
“I get so mad at Aunt Scylla, sometimes,”Lumina admitted. “Even though, like, I know she was just doing what she thought was right.”

  
Uma shrugged, and it made her whole body ripple, so Lumina almost missed what she said in admiring her.

  
“Just because someone thinks they're doing the right thing doesn't mean people don’t get hurt.”

  
Lumina thought about that.

  
“Do you think Triton thought he was doing the right thing?”

  
Uma snorted.

  
“I think Triton's a power hungry tyrant with a hard on for killing.”

  
Lumina nodded.

  
“He wants me t _o_ marry his grandson.”

  
Uma gagged.

  
“Don't do that.”

  
“I won't!” Lumina giggled. “My parents won't let me, anyhow!”

  
Uma lowered her glasses, and started laughing. It was beautiful, and it made Lumina laugh, too.

They shook the back of the turtle they were basking on, and it rumbled in irritation, so they laughed some more, and when it sank beneath them they lay back on the waves and giggled.

  
...

  
The red breasted birds were slightly outlawed. Once there had been a bounty on them, cheerful, angry little creatures.

  
They thought about it as they packed, as they cleaned. Dust settled in the room behind them as they passed through, to a hike that would take all day.

  
Robins, little screeching birds, chewing worms and grapes, laughing at the humans who sought to do away with them.

  
There was a fox in the woods, There were wolves. There were robins.

  
...  
Harry was allowed to get up by now, but he could only make it as far as the rocking chair by the window. He sat there, cursing his weakness, and glared out the window at Gil and Jonas, who waved cheerfully at him.

  
The days were grey now, but gently so. The breezes were soft and the rains came down in misty ripples.

  
Yet, through it all, the Pixies' Tree glowed like a brand on the hill across the meadow.

  
Harry didn't go to bed that night. He stayed in the chair, and he watched the flickering light of the dust tree. It was the golden yellow of candle flames, and it makes Harry think of candlelit dancing, of torches on the docks, and the rolling power outages that left them giggling in the dark.

  
Harry wanted... Wanted something.  
Wanted Uma, wanted her so badly. He felt as if he'd die the longer he was away from her, but she'd sent them here, away from her, and why?

  
Uma needed him. He was the knife in her hand, he was the stick to her carrot. She brought the light, and he carried the shadows behind her.

She would bring freedom, and he would ensure they stayed free.

  
“There you are!”

  
The boy appeared, the Pan, his large dark eyes illuminated by the fairy dust.

Harry rolled his eyes.

  
“Dramatic,” he muttered, and Pan giggled.

  
“I like you, Hook,” he said, cheerfully.

“It's been so awfully boring without you.”

  
“I'm not him,” Harry snapped. “Never was, never will be.”

  
“Oh, no you're not,” the boy tapped his nose, grinning. “You're even better.”

  
Pan cajoled him out the window, then blew fairy dust in his face.

  
Harry sneezed three times and glared at Pan, but Pan just laughed, and held out his hand.

  
“Come with me.”

  
He didn't have much dust, and it wore off halfway across the garden. Pan brought them down with practiced ease and met Harry's eyes with a strange, wild confidence.

  
Harry had always laughed a bit, where his father couldn't see, at the great pirate captain, brought down time and time again by a little child.

  
Yet now, looking down into the Pan's ancient eyes, he began to understand.

No mere child, this. Something else, something old, something dark, but not evil.

  
“What are you?” He asked, keeping his voice low.

  
The Pan laughed.

  
“I race the Black Dogs across the Moors, Child of Hook,” he murmured, almost sang. “I sing the ships down to the forty-five fathoms.”

  
Harry felt himself shaking, and took a long breath.

  
“You and I have played hand in hand since you were born,” the Pan laughed at him.”Don't be shy now, Hook, let's go!”

  
...

  
Uma and Lumina played on the water for far longer than they intended, until Lumina's iShell beeped an angry text message from her parents and her aunt.

  
“Oh, no!” Lumina winced, looking at the sun. “I had no idea it was so late!”

  
“What time is it?” Uma paddled over to her and made a face. “No wonder I was getting hungry.”

  
“You should have told me you were hungry,” Lumina blushed. “I would have taken us down.”

  
“I only started to get hungry,” Uma protested, then cocked her head. “What's that noise?”

  
It was a high pitched roar, from the southeast, like an outboard motor.

Poachers, the humans who sometimes liked to violate the borders to catch the rare animals that Pearl Kingdom gave sanctuary to, Lumina supposed, and turned to take a picture.

  
But if these were poachers, they were the strangest Lumina had ever seen, on a boat that was overloaded, and made from scavenged bits of other boats besides. It was moving too quickly, bits were coming off the side, and followed by several other boats, smaller, and somehow deadly looking,

“They're running,” Uma said, grimly. “Trying to get away from something.”

  
“Refugees!” Lumina remembered watching a video on her iClam, with Father. “They're from the Isle of the Lost.”

  
“Wherever they're from, they're outnumbered and outgunned,” Uma said, “Those little boats will take them down before they even get across the border.”

“We can't let them!” Lumina touched the little bag of pearls she kept with her.

“We're not going to let them,” Uma nodded, firmly. “You go ahead, Lumina, you're faster, but give me your shell. I'll call your parents. We just have to get them across the border, and and the army will take care of the rest.”

Lumina nodded, handed over her shell, and began to swim.  
...

“You could take the little ones, one at a time,” John spoke as he thought, dodging a bullet. “Get them to them little reefs, at least. You'll be safe.”

  
“Until the tide covers us,” Jim snorted. “Then we'll be floating fishbait, Silver. Come up with a good plan for once.”

  
Polly chirped agreeably, shaking her feathers out.

  
“Keep going!”

  
They looked overboard, elderly pirate and Royal Navy deserter, into the blue water.

A little mermaid, with pink streaks in her hair, was swimming at their side, looking a bit desperate.

  
“You're not half a kilometre from the border,” she gasped, swallowing some sea water. “I'll make a distraction, you keep running.”

  
Pearls rose up out of the water around her, and began to fly wildly, randomly, at the Navy speedboats, intercepting bullets and drawing fire.

  
“Go!”

  
“You heard the mermaid!” Jim stood up, barking orders. “Full speed ahead! Everyone, hang on, and look out for reefs and rocks!”

  
John sighed, and felt a great weight lift from his shoulders.

  
He pulled a talisman from his pocket. It was old and small, hand been fondled by hundreds of generations of Silvers before him. A woman, but with the legs of an octopus. He kissed it, and began to pray, as he had never prayed before. Not for the infected wound on his shoulder, seeping pus and blood into his coat, nor for the boy, who was a man now, that he be spared the noose, should the Navy take them.

  
He prayed the simple prayers of a child.

  
_Uma, mother of all, queen of the oceans, bringer of life, save us, your children. Uma, queen of all sailors, giver of life, give your blessing to we, small and few, on your greatness, Uma, mother of all..._

  
...

Uma clapped the shell shut and slipped it into her bodice, looking towards the battle.

Lumina's pearls were providing a distraction, but they wouldn't win the day, Uma thought, making her way towards the boat as quickly as she could,

I won't make it, she realized, dread curling up coldly in her stomach. I'm not fast enough.

Lumina might die if she wasn't fast enough, she realized.

If I had a tail, if I had a tail, I'd be fast enough.

There was a bright blossom of red up ahead. Lumina's blood.

Sharks didn't go after mermaids often. Too many bones, not worth the fight. But already wounded, and a shark was just a shark. They didn't fight their instincts at all, it wasn't worth it. Millions of years had perfected them.

If I had a tail.

Then, like thought, she shot ahead, faster than thought. She cut through the water like a bullet, the current almost slicing her in half, until, in what felt like seconds, she was at the bow of the little boat.

  
“You need to go faster,” she called above the roar of motors and the firecracker echoes of gunshots. “Can anyone jump in and swim?”

  
“If we could, we would have already,” a tall man with shadows under his eyes leaned over the side. “We’ve been sitting ducks since we left port.”

  
“Alright,” Uma dove under the boat, inspecting the hull. Barely holding together, with bubbles spurting from one side.

  
“Davy Jones!”

  
“Uma!”

  
It was Lumina, her pearls spinning around her, and her eyes and mouth open as wide and round as full moons.

  
“You have a tail!”

  
Uma looked down at herself, and choked on sea water. It was true. It was long and graceful, with a sharp fan of spines at the end, and a sparkling pattern of blue and black scales.

  
“How did you...?” Lumina trailed off and made an admiring gesture.

  
“I don’t- I just wished for it,” Uma felt as if she was lying. She did know, she must know.

  
A harpoon whizzed by them, exploding off a reef below, and Lumina whirled, sending a pearl back up the surface, before grabbing Uma’s arm.

  
“Wish us all out of here, then!” Lumina ducked another harpoon and sent pearls back like bullets.

  
The sun was pouring through the water, illuminating it in yellows and greens, while the boats stirred up bubbles and churned up sediment.

  
“Give me a current, give me a wave,” she touched her necklace as she thought. “Send us to safety, send us away.”

  
And they flew. Across the waters, across the waves, and the water upturned itself as the navy speeders tried to break through, tossing the little boats like toys.

  
Uma felt the necklace glow, and now it burned bright and she saw it, saw a world, an entire world, and a tree, aglow with magic.

  
“Uma! Uma! Uma!”

  
...  
“Do you know what you are, son of Hook?”

  
Harry grunted and tried to ignore the Pan as he climbed a hill covered in brambles and nettles and impossibly tangled plants. Peter Pan didn’t seem to even notice the mess, dancing lightly from place to place, no need of pixy dust to fly.

  
“You’re impossible!”

  
“Heard that one before,” Harry muttered, and Pan laughed, bright, bell-like, and terrifying.

  
“Born of laughter, formed by cheer,” Pan said it like it was a quotation, swinging from a branch overhead. “Happiness has brought you here.”

  
If happiness was a girl as blue and as bright as the sea, then yes, Harry supposed it had. His answer was more prosaic.

  
“T’was a storm.”

  
“Fairies, idiot,” Pan tweaked his ear and flew out of reach, leading Harry further and further into the woods, to the light that shone through, day or night, a steady gleam.

  
“Fairies are born of a baby’s first laugh,” Pan laughed at him as he tripped and fell in the mud. “At least, pixies are.”

  
“Born to tinker and grow things, born to raise the waves up and down and to paint the frost onto the windows.”

  
“But,” and here Pan raised him up, looking deeply into his eyes. “Not born to sail the seas, nor to mend nets, nor to bear babes.”

  
Harry stared at Pan, whose grin went from childish to vicious and ancient.

  
“Yet, here you are,” Peter crowed. “The impossible child, the son of Zarina, who dared and dared.”

  
It was the first time that anyone besides the pixies had mentioned her, and Harry was struck breathless for a moment. Pan dragged him along again after that.

  
“Who was Zarina?” Pan asked, but it seemed rhetorical, and Harry had no breath to answer him with.

  
“Dust given form and freedom,” a small dancing glow had joined them, as yellow and fearless as Tinkerbell, in the form of a tiny man. “The greatest of us.”

  
Was that what she was? Harry remembered nets mended and stories told, of daring do and of wind water.

  
“She was my mum,” he said, defensively, hating himself for it.

  
“He needs to go back, Peter,” the newcomer said, fluttering in place. “He’s still hurt.”

  
“We all are,” said the boy who never grew up. “But let him go.”

  
“No human has ever been this far into our lands!” This one appeared out of the darkness, glowing with a darkness of her own. “Turn back!”

  
But the fey pressed on and Harry with him, scraped by brambles and stung by nettles. The glow from the tree became brighter and clearer, then they stumbled into a large clearing.

  
The tree was much less impressive than it had looked through the trees.

It had been burnt down halfway down its trunk, leaving a few low, sickly looking branches, and a charred centre, with yellow dust spurting weakly from its centre, landing in small baskets that pixies carried to and fro.

  
Pan dropped him and Harry fell like a discarded toy on the forest floor.

  
The tree called him. He crawled across the glen, on hands and knees, feeling the wound on his head re-open, blood falling into his eyes.

He fell on his face more than once, swarmed by pixies whose tiny voices jingled like the off key bells that sometimes appeared in the garbage after the Yuletide.

Their tiny hands and feet brushed his skin and he waved them off, crawling until he was at the foot of the tree.

  
He pulled himself up onto a piece that had been smoothly sawed off, probably centuries ago. He barely fit onto the stump, curled up in a ball.

  
The stump held a strange, unearthly quality. The top was covered lightly in small dandelion seeds, and tiny, tightly bound bundles. One of these had decayed just enough that small, delicate bones showed through.

  
There was only one thing that could kill a fairy. One thing, his sister CJ had taunted him and his mother with it.

  
But Harry...

  
“I believe,” he muttered, feeling the fever return. “I believe.”

  
“You have to say it,” Pan wrenched him up by his hair. “It won’t work unless you say it.”

  
“I believe in fairies,” he whispered. His throat was dry and tight, as if the air was leaving him. “I believe in fairies.”

  
“Louder!” Pan was growing, becoming something strange and bright. “Louder, impossible child!”

  
“I believe in fairies!” He coughed and choked on his own words and he wasn’t there, not any longer.

  
Their home was small, and dark. Mum was silent, but she was never silent, and she was still, but she was never still. Her red hair, spread out on her pillow, had lost its shine, her skin was dull, and her lips were growing pale.

  
His head hurt where Harriet had brought her sword down across his temple, to loosen his grip on CJ’s throat, trying to silence her shouts, too late, too late.

Mum had been dead long before they’d found her, and whatever CJ’s childish chant had or hadn’t had to do with it.

  
“But I believe,” he took Mum’s cold hands in his. “I believe in fairies, Mum. I believe in fairies.

  
“I believe in fairies,” he swallowed a scream, and held it in his throat. “I believe in fairies.”

  
The old man had found him there, childishly weeping, repeating himself over and over again. He’d seen CJ first, and the bruises on her throat, and Harry had never been the favoured child.

  
Harry had laughed when Uma found him in Tick Tock’s den, his throat wrung round with purple fingerprints. He’d never stopped laughing, he’d giggled through theft, and he’d cackled through murder.

  
He’d tried that day to give Tick Tock his hand, and Uma had brought him an old boat hook in exchange for a promise to never do so again.

She was the only thing left to him, and so he’d given it and himself to her, and swallowed a scream so deep he couldn’t have even said if it had ever been there.  
He found it now, deep in his belly.

  
“I believe in fairies!”

  
The tree burst open in an explosion of shimmering dust that flooded the clearing and coated him and Peter Pan, and all the pixies.

It flowed and flowed, and Harry knew it would be seen at Merryweather’s house, and from the ship’s railing in the lagoon.

It flew into the air and it sank into the earth, it filled the streams, lifting water out in impossible patterns.

  
Pan dropped him and flew away, crowing. Harry lay on the stump, gasping for breath, and whispering to himself.

  
“I believe in fairies, I believe, I believe...”

  
“Born of laughter,” the woman’s voice came from no where and everywhere, and the dust began to coalesce, to twist itself above the stump.

The tattered, dead dandelion seeds began to dance in the wind, and the leafy shrouds twisted away, scattering the tiny bones to join the dancing dust.

  
“Formed in cheer,” and a tree birthed itself in the dust, flinging itself upwards to the stars and the moon, throwing out its branches and its leaves with wild abandon.

  
“Happiness,” and some of the dust left the tree, whirling and whirling, until a pixy woman stood before him, and she held out her tiny hands expansively, majestically.

 

“Happiness has brought you here.”

  
All around Harry, where the dust has touched the tiny, threadbare seeds, pixies were beginning to stand, teetering on tiny, newborn legs, shaking out their wings themselves.

The sparrow men and the fairy women were still in shock, staring at the dust, and the tree, and the woman.

  
Harry ignored all of it, and buried his head in arms and wept.

  
...

  
Far away, far across the sea, far across the world, in a land that had once been a world apart, within a wall of thorns longer than a man’s hand, a dragon opened her eyes.


	5. Chapter 5

Once upon a time.

 

One does not enter the woods unless what lies outside is darker. One does not climb into the well unless the freezing water is safer than home. One does not wish unless all other options have been exhausted.

 

Her hair was as black as ebony. Her skin, as white as snow. Her lips as red as blood.

 

She was fourteen.

 

...

 

Refugees were all well and good. Elementals were a bit more trouble.

 

Rapunzel was nice enough. Her daughter and the young Islander they’d apparently adopted were already on their way home with a good pile of refugees to resettle in Corona.

 

Rapunzel stayed behind, making magical, tiny suns to replenish the vitamin deficiency that most of the Islanders carried with them.

 

The Queen of Arendelle simply clung to the Moanan girl, quietly trying to help and instruct her friend in control. It was Moana who was the problem. She was young, according to her fellows, and water followed her, from the docks, in and out of the kitchens and bathrooms, and even from cups on the table. The girl was all kindness and apologies, but the damp and slippery surfaces were a constant hazard at the centre.

 

Tiana missed her restaurant. She wondered how Danny was handling the kitchen, what Louis and his band were coming up with now. She missed the canals and the docks, she missed the bayou, the swamps.

 

Her island, Orleans, both land and water, swamps full of life, built on decay.

 

“Mama!”

 

The little crocodile had forgotten her mother already, and had adopted Tiana. Little Jimmy had decided this meant that she was safe, and, thus far, she was.

 

“Don’t leave him alone with her, you hear me, Ralphie?” Tiana put another hairpininto the coils at the base of her neck. “I know she seems sweet, but she’s still a croc.”

 

“I know,” Ralphie didn’t roll his eyes but he came close to it, and Tiana shot him an unimpressed look.

 

“We’ll be about four hours, depending on Mr. Salman’s concerns and Lady Santana’s peacocks. I swear, if those things block the road one more time-“ she cut herself off and pulled on a pair of white gloves. The society papers were still a little unsure of her Orleans style formal wear, and she tried to add more Maldonian touches, scarves and elaborate prints, but she didn’t like to give up her pearls and her church hats.

 

She didn’t just represent herself, she reasoned. She was sort of here for Orleans, too.

 

“Is Mr. Salman still mad about the centre being in his district?” Ralphie asked.

 

“It’s not that he hates them, or anything, sugar,” Tiana screwed in her earrings. Cheap, pretty things that Daddy had sent her from the war. “It’s a burden on his people, too. The Islanders, they aren’t very good at living Maldonian style now.”

 

They wouldn’t have been good at living in any society, was Tiana’s personal opinion, but they were here now.

 

“The Quran tells us we should be charitable first,” Ralphie said, turning Jimmy upside down. “For a guy who spends so much time at the mosque, Salman doesn’t seem to listen to the imams so well.”

 

“Hush you,” Tiana pinned her hat down and smiled at her reflection. “Mr. Salman’s a good man. He just wants to know what assistance he’s going to get.”

 

“We should settle them in the country,” Ralphie suggested. “It’s nice out there, and it’s peaceful. The little villages are starting to go empty, so they’ll like having the people there.”

 

The refugees needed more than that. They needed doctors and psychiatric help,they needed homes and clothes, they needed schooling, more than a bit of outdated knowledge, pencils and books thatwere more than bits and pieces of garbage, some of them were legitimately violent, others were in catatonic states.

 

But it wasn’t a bad idea, and the air in the country was sweet, the green was bright and peaceful, and little villages would benefit from the influx of new people.

 

“You ought to write that up as a proposal and submit it,” Tiana suggested, grabbing her handbag and her parasol. “How do I look, baby?”

 

“Princess, mama! Princess!” Jimmy clapped his hands and cooed at her.

 

“Thank you, sweetheart,” Tiana knelt and kissed him. “Y’all be good for Uncle Ralphie. Mama and Daddy’ll be back soon.”

 

...

 

The moon shone out blue that night, as Tiana and Naveen walked back to the house along the sea wall.

 

Moanans lived all over the world, claiming the oceans as their own. Their welcome had historically been better or worse depending on where they settled, but Maldonia was a patchwork country, and welcomed the children of the ocean the same way they had welcomed everyone else.

 

Tonight there was a coming of age ceremony, a small parade that finished at the docks, where a small boat was awaiting. A young man was singing under wreaths and garlands, hands outstretched to the moonlight and the sea.

 

“That’s how they make wayfinders these days,” a soft voice at Tiana’s elbow made her jump, as Moana seemed to appear out of nowhere.

 

“Sorry,” the elemental quirked her lips.

 

“He’s telling his name to the sea,” she explained. “Soon he’ll leave, to find his way home, to the mother island.”

 

Te Fiti. The place where Moana had supposedly slept for the last thousand years.

 

Tiana and Naveen waited.

 

The sea lit up, with delight and with the glow of magic and divinity. Tiana had met an Auradonian once who expressed unease with all the magic that she and her people had grown up with, and she hadn’t understood. There was terror in it, yes, but between the sea and the sky, she felt the wonder of it now, the brightness of it.

 

The child left on the path of light, accompanied by ghost ships. Tiana and Naveen left not long after, leaving Moana with the family that was sitting on the docks, watching a little life fly off into the dark.

 

...

She came ashore and shaped legs of her tail, shaped out the bodice and small skirt that Lumina had given her to something that went to her knees. Lumina was going home now, but boats carrying the few fae and humans that made up the surface dwelling portion of the Pearl Kingdom were making their way across the water, accompanied by volunteers from below the waves.

 

She walked into the small, exhausted crowd of Islanders, and watched as they drew back, avoiding her eyes.Hands brushed shyly at her skirt, as if at a holy relic, but only when her back was turned.

 

She wondered at her fearlessness in turning her back. She wondered at the feeling of daring.

 

“Uma, Uma, Uma...”

 

There was something both familiar and unexpected in the murmuring. She felt simultaneously as if it were her due, and wary, waiting for mockery, for violence.

 

It didn’t happen. They didn’t even stand up, just sat, whispering her name.

 

They were ragged and hard looking. They didn’t hold their children, they even set babies down at their sides, ignoring their whimpered demands for food and water.

 

There was a freshwater stream on the side of a small cliff, and Uma wondered if her new powers extended to bringing it closer.

 

It took effort, and part of the cliff crumbled into a pile of rocks, but she did manage to shift the flow of water. It only took a thought, and it terrified and thrilled her in equal measure.

 

An old man was lying with his head on the shadow-eyed man’s lap. The latter wore a Navy uniform, probably a ranking officer, judging by the markings on his chest and shoulder.

 

He flinched as she approached.

 

Now Uma recognized the old man. As if the memories had always been there, she knew him, in a detached way.

 

“Silver.”

 

He grunted, and turned to her, eyes hazy with pain or maybe just with age.

 

“Witch-daughter.”

 

Uma knelt beside him, and pulled away the blood stained rags, remnants of former finery. Underneath, a deep cut oozed lazily, blood and puss mixing grotesquely.

 

“Is that who I am?”

 

He laughed, and the wound opened further.

 

“No,” he sighed and looked away. “No, I suppose not.”

 

Uma wondered if she could cure him, and reached for the wound, only to have him grab her hand.

 

“No, girl.”

 

She drew back, and met the Navy-man’s eyes. He shrugged, but a tear went down his cheek. He blinked the rest back, and wiped his face.

 

“Stupid old man,” he muttered.

 

A bird squawked at them, a red parrot, and the ships that could come close enough to drop off and pick up passengers, and to bring supplies and little shelters began their work, while the larger ones, including a hospital ship, drew into a small, floating city.

 

“Your mother didn’t know,” Silver was staring at her. “She named you for spite, but she never knew.”

 

She might have wanted a witch to follow in her footsteps, she might have wanted a pretty princess, and Uma knew she was neither of those.

 

Silver wasn’t the memories, he wasn’t the catalyst.

 

It had worked.

 

She remembered the rage, the determination. She remembered feeling as if she’d been under suffocating blankets her whole life, suddenly thrown back, giving her breath and light.

 

She remembered the currents and the tides running through her, as if she were the ocean itself, and something greater than the ocean. She remembered feeling the vents in ocean floor, the heat and darkness.

 

She remembered the freedom, and she felt it again, though not fully. Something was missing.

 

And she remembered a tree.

 

“Where’s my ship?” She kept her voice low, and glared at Silver. “Where’s the Lost Revenge?”

 

“Oh my dear,” he reached out and took her hand, shaking his head. “She’s lost. All hands gone down with her.”

...

 

“He’s lying.”

 

Poseidon sighed, and pointedly handed Uma a bowl of soup. She took the straw and drank. It was a porpoise broth, fortified with seaweed and shrimp, fattening and rich with vitamins and minerals. Uma, who didn’t really like anything besides fried fish and jellies, ate it the same way she ate most food, quietly and mechanically, glaring off into the distance.

 

“I would have known,” she insisted, over dessert. “I would have felt something.”

 

“I know you would have.”

 

And it was possible. Even untrained and with wildly fluctuating reach, Uma was more powerful than any other sea priestess he’d ever met.

 

So small, he thought, later, watching her sleep. She always curled up, wrapping her tentacles around herself, making her seem even smaller. She frowned in her sleep, often wept, and called out incoherently.

 

So small, to bear so much, to hold so much. To be so much, at so young an age.

 

Ursula had been much the same, but frothier. She’d been easier, at one with her powers and with the world.

 

Then again, and he found himself smiling, a bitten off, hard kind of grimace, she hadn’t been raised by a criminal in a prison camp under a power dampening field.

Uma rolled over in her sleep.

 

“Harry...”

 

...

 

Harry woke up with a headache.

 

“You’re dehydrated,” a pixy said, this one unfamiliar. “I would have made you drink something last night, but things were a bit topsy-turvy.”

 

She smiled kindly at him, then left, going off to chivvy another pixy.

 

The pixy Queen was directing the entire little flock of fairies, pointing this way and that way. Harry drank the water and watched her.

 

He was reminded of Uma, firm and decided, but softer.

 

Dust was still dancing in the air, coating the trees and the forest floor, covering every single pixy and himself. He felt weightless, and slightly dizzy. Water leapt by itself from the nearby stream and into his cup, so he drank it again, which took care of the dizziness.

 

But not the weightlessness and as he tried to get up, he launched himself towards the treetops, and was only just barely saved from flying off into space by grabbing a passing limb.

 

“Be careful!” Vidia scolded him. “You’re not used to flying yet, you need to practice.”

 

“I don’t have bloody wings,” he snapped at her, but she just rolled her eyes and tapped his shoulder, sending him down.

 

He settled on a log, across the clearing from the tree, trying to be careful of the little city.

 

Tinkerbell and another, much plumper pixy were directing a huge crew of green clad, cheerful little fae. Harry could see the newborns, shyer and uncertain of their hands, urged along by their elders, and the practiced, calm hands of the older fairies.

“Tinker fairies always seem to go unnoticed,” the little queen settled onto the log beside him. “And yet, we couldn’t possibly do without them. They’re a bit like dust fairies that way.”

 

He snorted.

 

“Here to tell me more about my mum?”

 

He tried to think of ways to fend her off, but she laughed and shook her head.

 

“There’s nothing I could tell you that someone else couldn’t tell you with more detail and more love,” she told him. “I barely knew Zarina.”

 

“I actually wanted to speak to you,” she explained. “I don’t know how much you know of, well, us, but-“

 

“Nothing,” he interrupted her. “No one ever told me nothing, and anyone who could have told me died, so it’s all a big blank spot.”

 

“And that’s alright with me,” he added. “I don’t need any of this to run a ship, or to sail the seas, or to find my captain. I’m fine.”

 

He clung to the branch to keep from floating off, and deliberately tangled his feet in the tangled bushes under them.

 

“I see,” the queen said, voice soft. “Then you won’t be needing all this dust.”

 

He was about to crack wise when her words registered, and he stared.

 

“What?”

 

“They burned the tree,” the little queen set her feet firmly on the bark, glaring at the aforementioned plant, which now bore no signs of the burned out stump it had been. “They came with fire and magic and destroyed our home. They taught killing words to little children and they used them. They took our people, our pirates, they killed the Lost Children, they attacked the First People, they tried to drive Tiger Lily into the sea, they dared do all that.”

 

Her voice had risen as she spoke, fierce and bright, and her people stopped to listen.

 

“They set fire to the land of winter, they melted the snow and the streams, they destroyed the autumn woods and the spring fields.”

 

“They dared to come to the Nevernever! To the land beyond lands, to the second star!” She rose into the air at this point, aglow with dust and rage. “To attack the point between worlds, the compass on the star of creation!”

 

“Now they will learn,” and dust exploded into the air, took form and substance, weapons of war and armour. “They think, in their arrogance, that we who are small will forget, that we will linger in our defeat, and weep, and become no more!”

 

The hollow rang with tiny cries of war, vicious and bright, with the shaking of dust, and the fluttering of wings.

 

“We believe in fairies!” The queen laughed, and her dress transformed into armour, gold and glittering. “We believe in fairies!”

 

...

 

History is written, temporarily, by the victors. Until such a time as distance meets morality and the victors can click their tongues at the savagery of the distant past, smug in the comfortable armchair of the present, carefully insulated from the blood that got them their arm chairs and their morality.

 

It wasn’t as if his line had been free of stains, Poseidon thought, pouring coffee and mixing porridge. there had been a reason why fishermen made sacrifices to them and the other kingdoms sent tribute.

 

And yet, for all that, the people had never truly been unhappy. Caecilians, crustaceans, shapeshifters, fae, even water dwelling humans had had their own places in the world, none above the others.

 

Except, and he smiled as he thought of how Ursula would have groaned at his word play, for the humans, which were above everyone else. 

 

The fact was, he hadn’t noticed when the merfolk started grumbling. They’d always been slightly stand offish, a bit convinced of their own superiority, and even though he was mer, he’d never understood it. It was almost like they blamed everyone else for their troubles and wanted to bring them to the other people’s door. Just where it had come from, no one had understood.

 

He had his suspicions about the origins now, though, what with Triton’s close allegiance with Auradon. The old queen and king would have had their fingers in all the little plots around them as they built the foundations of their empire.

In retrospect, it was so obvious. In the moment, his wife was dead by their son, his daughter was missing and probably dead, and he himself was in the neighbouring country, watching in horror as his world burned down, helpless to stop it.

 

He sighed over the kettle, and almost missed the soft sound of knocking over the sound of the porridge coming to readiness.

 

But it came again, and he went to answer, hoping they had enough to share with whatever guest was dropping by so early.

 

Only to blink in the face of a small crowd, staring at him as if he bore the Trident of the Sea itself.

 

“Hello,” he said, slowly, hoping they wouldn’t mind sitting in the grotto, or waiting for whatever he could order in at this hour. Maybe Daisy’s Doughnuts would come if he explained it was an emergency.

 

They all looked at each other, and that was when he realized that they were ragged and tired and as filthy as it was possible to get at the bottom of the sea.

 

“Is she here?”

 

Daisy’s did, in fact deliver, especially to him, and the “she” turned out to be Uma, still muddled from sleep, sipping her coffee irritably and glaring at the visitors as they sat, uncomfortable and contorted so as none of them were at a higher elevation than her.

 

“Uma-“

 

Uma turned a poisonous glare on the poor girl, who cut her own self off, shrinking away.

 

Poseidon considered trying to mediate, then decided discretion was the better portion of valour, and went outside to wait for the delivery shark.

 

...

 

It hadn’t been a trial. There’d barely been an arrest, they’d just led CJ one way and her the other, and the next minute she’d been meeting two terrified lawyers scarcely older than herself and told she was on trial for her life on charges of treason and attempted regicide.

 

She could have told them in was useless. In vain they protested that she hadn’t known what Harry was up to, that she hadn’t had any part in his and Uma’s plans. Someone had to swing for it, and she was all they had.

 

...

 

“No.”

 

His father was looking at him that way, the way he had looked at him when he was a child, and he wasn’t a child anymore. He couldn’t be.

 

“You can’t do this.”

 

“Ben,” his mother had that line between her eyebrows, the one that made her prettily concerned. He’d once watched her practice it, preparing for an interview.

 

“Ben, maybe you should go lie down.”

 

He dug his nails into his palms. There’d be scabs there later, there were already cuts on his legs where he’d scratched a patch of skin raw.

 

“I’m fine,” he snapped. “You two have apparently gone insane, though. You outlawed the death penalty.”

 

“I agreed to a moratorium,” Father said. “It was an experiment that failed.”

 

Ben waved at it, as if he could push it all aside. “You can’t do this. She wasn’t even there, she had nothing to do with it.”

 

“Are we supposed to believe that a bunch of fifteen and sixteen year olds came up with kidnaping you all by themselves?”

 

Mother’s voice was soft and disbelieving, as pretty as a bird.

 

“Then go after Hook!” Ben snapped, losing hold on his temper. “Go after Ursula, don’t kill a teenager!” 

 

“I won’t let you do this,” he thought furiously, ran through all the laws he knew, every little word from the texts he’d been learning since he was a kid. “I’m the king-“

 

“King in waiting, Ben.”

 

He stared at his father, standing there, smiling apologetically.

 

“You don’t think we’d let a teenager decide government policy, do you?” His father asked.

 

“You can’t,” Ben thought of Harry, terrible and with wild, mocking eyes, and for once he wasn’t afraid, just filled with a helpless grief. “You can’t do this.”

 

“Ben,” his mother wrapped her arms around his shoulders. “Ben, you’ll be alright.”

 

He started laughing then, hysterically giggles that reminded him of Harry, and his mother called in a nurse and had him taken to his rooms and sedated.

 

He dreamed that night of a yellow haired woman who stared down at him with solemn eyes, and no matter how he tried to explain himself, he couldn’t.

 

He woke up to rose petals on his pillow.

 

...

 

They were underwater folk, refugees from the Isle, and they’d never had coffee before. They had nowhere to go and no one to turn to, and they looked at her like she was something bigger than she’d been.

 

“We just...”

 

“Why am I supposed to help you?”

 

She knew some of them. She could see some taunting her, she could hear them mocking her. She had fought some, fist to fist and blade to blade, some had been-

 

“You were Mal’s,” she pointed to a crustacean girl, who flushed and skittered nervously. “You drowned Ricky Castle last spring.”

 

“To be fair,” a merboy said, hesitantly. “He was trying to gut her at the time.”

 

“You were Mal’s, too,” she’d seen him during fights, in the marketplace, at the docks. No neutral party, like Jonas had been before she’d made him hers.

 

“Mal betrayed us!”

 

That was the crustacean girl, hands curled into fists, and face red. “She abandoned us, she betrayed the Isle, she and her little crew, they left us all to die!”

 

Mail had done that, Uma thought, and so had Carlos and Jay and Evie. She’d never expected more from the other three, especially De Vil’s whining little cur, but some part of her had remembered Mal from before, some small part of her had hoped and waited.

 

“We thought,” this was a new speaker, a caecilian like her, but taller, with long arms that she curled around herself. “After the barrier came down, we thought you’d come back, and lead us, but you just, you left, too.”

 

“Sorry, I was busy recovering from a head injury and fleeing for my life,” she sneered at them, then turned away curling up her tentacles under herself. “I didn’t do it for you, anyhow, I did it for me and for mine.”

 

My crew. My people. My mad and bad man.

 

“So we were just a side effect,” the merboy snorted. “Good to know.”

 

“They came for us,” the crustacean skittered her legs across the stones. “They sent ships and planes and fire makers and water witches, and they burned us and drowned us.”

 

“They said if the barrier hadn’t come down,” the caecilian added, tentacles tightening around herself. “They would never have had to come. If the barrier were up, we’d be contained. They were containing us.”

 

“Madame Mim is dead,” the mer boy said. “They took her whole shop out with a bomb. The schools are gone, the markets. People are starving, the garbage trawlers don’t come anymore.”

 

Uma stared out the window. A shark with doughnuts and coffee swam past, her handler cooing to her. Across the street, Mrs. Agar was leaving her house with a giant hat on.

 

Uma didn’t want to think of Madame Mim’s shop, always alive and noisy, as rubble and dust.

 

“I was the last to leave,” the caecilian said, sniffling. “They were taking kids. They took my brothers and they took all my sister’s girls except the youngest. She gave her to me and I just ran. I ran into the water and it did this. I didn’t even know. My mom never said.”

 

Uma thought about it, and then she thought about a tall ship and a star, second to the right, and about laughing blue eyes.

 

“What’s any of this got to do with me?”

 

There was a long moment of silence.

 

“You brought down the barrier.”

 

Uma had done that. With the sea in her soul she had done that, for it needed to be done. She’d raised her hands to fire and quenched it so thoroughly it could never be kindled again.

 

She remembered the feeling, deeply fulfilling. She’d always tried to control herself, refused to give into the casual destruction that Harry and the others rained down around themselves. It was the first time she’d given into her impulses since she was a child, and it had been glorious.

 

“They came after us because you brought it down!”

 

That was the caecilian, her tentacles tangling into knots, hands clasped so tightly that the colour was bleaching from her knuckles.

 

“They came after us because of you! They came to kill!”

 

“It’s your fault,” the crustacean insisted. “You made them look our way! They were forgetting us, and you made them remember!”

 

“You made them afraid, and they came for us,” the caecilian shivered, sending ripples through the room. “They came to kill us.”

 

“They were already killing us,” Uma laughed at her. “They had us like fish in a barrel, and you were all happy to die. Not me. Not my crew.”

 

“We were trying to survive, but you,” the crustacean pointed at her. “You were all happy to die and take us with you.”

 

Die? No one had been meant to die, only to be free.

 

They refused freedom and Auradon did what it always meant to do, what it had been doing. Only instead of killing them by inches they were blasting away and everyone in their path who wasn’t clever or fast enough to get out of the way was dying.

 

And that wasn’t anything to do with Uma. Everyone had been told what was coming. If they hadn’t gotten out of the way, that was up to them.

 

“I saved you,” she reminded them. “You’d be trapped on that garbage pile of it weren’t for me.”

 

“Yeah,” the crustacean snorted, red curls dancing in the current from the window. “You saved us. Just like Mal saved us.”

 

The water turned red in front of her eyes.

 

“Get out.”

 

“That’s not what -“

 

“I didn’t mean-“

 

They began making excuses, but she could feel the sea rising in her, the currents tightening and circling. A whirlpool beginning to rush against itself.

 

“Get out.”

 

They fluttered around her and said things, things she couldn’t hear over the roar of the storm in her ears.

 

“Get out!”

 

They fled, leaving her alone with the sea, with the corals and stones in their little reef. One of the seals her grandfather fed from time to time nosed her, but she brushed it away and fled back to her bed, and raged herself silently into a deep sleep.

 

...

 

“Bad dreams,” Jonas offered when Gil tried to find out why he had shadows under his eyes. Gil let it go and went into the house to try to find some cookies for the kids.

 

“That’s it!” Merryweather came down, crushing her apron in her hands. “That boy has trod on my last nerves, Gilbert! This is beyond the pale! Outrageous!”

 

He forgot about the cookies and followed her out the door, trying not to giggle at the way she bobbed around like a chicken after her chicks.

 

“Harry!”

 

Everyone was still waking up, and they all stared blearily at her. She huffed, and Gil pretended to find his feet very interesting.

 

“Well?” Merryweather demanded of the morning at large, hands on her hips. “Where is he?”

 

They all looked around, and Gil realized that they had all been lulled into a strange ease, and he hadn’t set a watch.

 

“Desiree, Jonas!” He motioned then to the woods, then looked for Rosie’s hair. “Where’s Rosie?”

 

“She’s onboard,” Nina sat up, and bounced to her feet. “With Daddy. Should I go get them?”

 

“Yeah, take the little kids with you,” and that would put her and the other younger kids out of the way.

 

“I’ll go high,” Merryweather shook her little wings out. “And see if Tiger Lily’s people have seen anything.”

 

“You do that,” he looked around. People were still standing there, half awake and scared. “Don’t be scared, guys. Just get looking.”

 

They kept being scared, but they got to looking, so he figured that six of one was better than nothing.

...

 

They brought CJ to her, and they didn’t tell the girl what was going to happen and she didn’t, either.

 

She told her things looked bad, but to be brave.

 

“Listen to what they say, the guards and the teachers. Do just what you’re told, Callista Jane, for I’ll be on the look out if you’re not. They’re reporting to me everyday.”

 

“It’s so boring, tho, Hattie,” the little girl pouted, and her tangled curls fell into her face. “I want to go home and work in the shop with you and Dad.”

 

“That’s enough of that,” Harriet stared at her, and wished she could stare forever.

 

Where had such pretty blue eyes come from? Who in the world had given that soft yellow hair, and where had she found such perfect eyebrows, that nearly met in the middle?

 

“This is a good thing for you, Callista Jane,” she thought it might be. Maybe they’d forget where and how Callista Jane had come into being, after all of it. “It’s a very good thing. And what do we do with good things?”

 

“Hold onto them with both hands,” Callista recited, and smiled up at her, breaking her heart between two perfect little teeth.

 

Harriet had raised Callista Jane herself. The girl had been so small when she’d carelessly spoken Zarina out of existence, which Harry had never forgiven, and Dad had finished his slow climb into the run bottle, only surfacing on occasion. It had been up to Harriet to bring up the youngest, which she’d done first grudgingly, then wonderingly.

 

She could pretend now that this was a small separation, as they’d had before, and soon she’d see Callista again, but she couldn’t help but cuddle her, too big for it as she was, twelve years old. She could hold her and stare at her and marvel at her beauty and her cleverness, memorize her.

 

Anthony had seen her a week ago, weeping and with kisses and promises of devotion beyond death that she hadn’t really believed, even if he had. She’d been sad to see him go, but now she realized she could bear it. She could bear leaving the sky and the sea and the few stars she’d ever known. She wouldn’t miss her father, long since soaked as a pudding, or Harry, whose fault this was, anyways.

 

But this? This perfect being, who didn’t even know how wonderful she was, this was what she would miss.

 

Suddenly, she couldn’t bear it. If it hadn’t been for Callista, she would have fallen into hysterics. Pride be damned, she would have held her until they broke her arms, would have died under their batons rather than let her go.

 

Instead she let her talk herself out, ate a nice lunch, the nicest either of them had ever had, and hummed her to sleep, then handed her over to a kindly faced woman who looked at her pityingly.

 

She would have cried that night. Instead she dreamed. Zarina was watching her, and she asked if this was the price she paid for failing to do something, save her, save Harry.Zarina only turned away.

...

“I’m not like Mal,” she told Lumina later. “I’m nothing like Mal.”

 

Lumina assured her that she wasn’t and hugged her and took her up to the surface, but every comfortable basking spot they had had been taken over by refugees, and they all looked at Uma in the same way, wanting and dissatisfied.

 

Then, too, she couldn’t sit still, or even float, and she kept thinking of the ship.

 

Lost. With all hands, but Silver was old. His eye wasn’t what it had been, and his crew was made up of drunks and idiots. 

 

It made her so angry that she quarrelled with Lumina for the first time, and when Lumina swam away, she herself dipped below the water and took the back alleys home, flinging herself into her bed.

 

She slept again, and dreamed that Harry was calling for her. He floated in a cloud of golden light and turned shining eyes to her, but no matter how she called and called to him, no matter how she struggled, he couldn’t see her and she couldn’t reach him.

 

She woke up and heard the TV. A habit Grandfather shared with Ursula, falling asleep in front of a show, though in his case it was a comedy. She sighed and got up to go and turn it off.

 

The comedy had ended, probably an hour ago. Uma covered Grandfather with a quilt of sea silk, an heirloom whose origin was somewhat shrouded in legend, and went to turn off the television.

 

A mermaid with the soft drawl of a Mermaidian was seated behind a blue desk, reading in an oh so serious tone, to let viewers know it was time to sit up and pay attention and sigh over whatever was coming up.

“-and despite outcry from the international community, including threatened sanctions from the Golden Kingdom, the United States of Auradon has announced plans to go ahead with the execution of teenager Harriet Hook.”

 

They didn’t really have a picture of her, just an obvious video still, Harriet looking cautiously at the sky, holding CJ in her arms. Harriet looked small and motherly, fearful.

 

Uma swallowed, then reached out and turned the tv off.

 

She’d never been close to Harriet. Lines had been drawn in the sand, with her and Harry on one side, and Harriet and CJ on the other. What CJ had done, well, and then Harriet took her side. Harriet took Hook’s side.

 

But for all that.

 

Harriet had food, sometimes, when things were bad. She hadn’t minded patching Harry up from time to time. And she’d never taken Mal’s side, either.

 

Uma lay awake for the rest of the night, and turned on the news first thing in the morning.

 

There was nothing. A baby seal was being displayed on the news set, and it was like last night’s report had never happened.

 

Uma did her hair, and felt sick, listening with half an ear to the reporters. She had nothing to wear, she thought, and hated her entire wardrobe

 

She flinched at the knock on the door, then castigated herself. Of course no one could get her here, she was safe. She was safe and well fed and she- She could stay here. She could stay here and stay safe.

 

Just like-

 

Lumina was outside, looking determined.

 

“You’d never come into me,” she sniffed, clearly still frustrated. “So I decided I’d just come, anyhow.”

 

Uma thought about that, then flung herself against the other girl and wrapped her up with her arms and her tentacles, all of them.

 

“I’m sorry,” she said, possibly for the first time in her life. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

“Hey,” Lumina hugged her, but hesitantly, as if she were fragile, and ready to break. “Hey, it’s okay. We just had a fight, that’s all.”

 

Uma shook her head, and pressed her face against Lumina’s neck.

 

“Help me.”

 

“Yeah,” Lumina sounded a bit out of breath. “Sure, Uma, whatever you need.”

 

...

 

“You’re late.”

 

The rabbit mask covered most of the speaker’s face. His stance, half leaning out of a tree, nearly unstable, spoke of youth, the flat, irritable line of his mouth put him in his twenties, and his voice, a light baritone, put him anywhere between fifteen and forty.

 

The fox laughed lightly, tossing their red hair.

 

“But of a delay on the road, old boy. Had to cover the trail, you know.”

 

The rabbit didn’t answer, but fell and landed lightly.

 

“There’s been a development.”

 

“So I’ve seen,” the fox held up their cell phone. “The Hook girl. Have you any plans?”

 

The rabbit hesitated.

 

“The opportunity’s been low,” he admitted. “I have one, but it’s somewhat desperate.”

 

The fox hummed an acknowledgement, and waited.

 

“In the end, she’s one girl,” the rabbit said, pulling a sandwich out of his pocket and handing it to the fox. “And not even the one we need.”

 

The fox took the sandwich and noticed the rabbit’s shaking hands.

 

“Can’t save them all, Ozzie,” they said, biting into the crusty bread.

 

The rabbit stilled for a moment, then shook himself.

 

“Let’s go, Robin.”

 

...

 

They asked if she wanted a priest.

 

“Just some paper and a pen,” she said, and if her hands shook, well, no one could see them. “I want to write some letters.”

 

No one was used to such things, and so they brought her the paper and the pen and she wrote. She wrote to Dad, and to Anthony, and to her mother, wherever she was.

 

Then she wrote Harry’s name at the top of a page, and stopped.

 

What did she have to say to Harry?

 

They’d never been close, and he’d never wanted to be, she’d never been enough, never done enough, and it was his stupid fault she was here, anyhow. If he hadn’t been so stupid, hadn’t followed Uma like such a puppy, none of this would have happened.

 

In the end, she said what needed to be said, and moved on to Callista Jane.

 

She wrote and she wrote. She used up all the paper, gave all the advice she could, told all the little stories, gave as much encouragement as possible, and ended with all the love she could manage.

 

Then she sat down to wait.

 

...

 

They found him in the hallways, because he’d tripped the last alarm, one that had been kept secret from the regular staff, and when they found the extra clothes, the explosives, the gun, deniability was quickly whisked away.

 

“But why?”

 

Pierre de Boulanger presses his lips together stubbornly for a moment.

 

“I suppose,” he said, finally. “Because she’s too damn thin and too damn young, and I doubt she’s ever had ice cream before.”

 

...

 

Ben heard them gossiping about it the next day. Pierre had tried to rescue Harriet Hook, and for a moment he wondered, with wild hope, if he’d succeeded, mishearing them, almost purposefully.

 

“He won’t say if he was working alone.”

 

“He’s a softy,” the other replied. “He said he wanted to take her for ice cream.”

 

“Well, he’ll be joining her now, if he’s not careful.”

 

The second speaker didn’t say anything after that.

 

Ben went into his bathroom and stared in the mirror. He needed to shave, for the first time in his life.

 

He clipped his nails again.

 

...

 

“Your father tried to drown me when I was a child.”

 

The woman wasn’t soundless. She’d come crackling through the bushes, but the fairies hadn’t done more than pause and greet her, so Harry had paid no attention, busy helping Tinkerbell and some others fill sacks of dust.

 

He looked up now, feeling a bit drawn out of things.

 

“What?”

 

He felt a bit as if he’d been in a trance, and put it down to playing all night instead of resting.

 

“I was ten years old,” she said, and smiled as if at the memory of a favoured uncle. “He was using me as bait for Peter Pan.”

 

This was Tiger Lily. Harry was familiar with the story.

 

She’d grown since then, obviously, and she had to be in her thirties, although she didn’t look like it.

 

“Are you coming with, then?” He asked, and didn’t find himself really very disappointed when she shook her head.

 

“My people come from another world,” she explained. “The same one your father came from, but at a different time.”

 

Behind her, men and women were bringing bundles and baskets. Food, he assumed, and other supplies. An old man was accepting payment from the pixy queen, which he inspected before handing some back insistently.

 

“Old Man Coyote brought my ancestors here to escape a great invasion,” Tiger Lily sat down beside him and helped him fill a bag with dust. “He told us he would come to bring us home when it was safe, so we do not leave, but wait for him.”

 

Harry nodded.

 

“But my father did give me some advice for you, young Hook,” she helped him tie the sack shut. “There is a land your father came from, with its own queen. I think she will no doubt be glad to see such a pirate’s son, and she will know what direction to go in next.”

 

Harry thought about it.

 

“I don’t think her Grace will be too happy to have pirates landing in Alba,” he commented.

 

Tiger Lily shrugged. “You have very few places where you might find allies, young man. It’s a land that has struggled against Auradon in the past, and will do so in the days to come.”

 

He glanced at her, and frowned. “How do you even know this?”

 

She shrugged. “We have cell phones. Pixies don’t really care about the outside world, and the others on the island only want to know what’s happening in passing.”

 

He stared at her, then began giggling. “Really?”

 

She grinned.

 

“Took a while to get my dad locked in with the Sun Kingdom, and the reception’s spotty, but it mostly works.”

 

She pulled out her phone, then winced, and put it away.

 

“Not today, I’m guessing,” Harry smirked.

 

“Not today,” she sighed, and helped him fill one more bag. “Now, be careful on your journey, young Hook.”

 

He scoffed at the idea and filled more bags. The next time he looked up, Tiger Lily and her people were gone.

 

...

 

She braided a green ribbon that Anthony had given her into her hair, until it was a coronet about her head. She’d thought of cutting it, but it was still lovely, dark and curling. She’d be bones and dried sinews soon enough, or shark bait, if her father’s way was followed, but she was still pretty today. They’d let her line her eyes and put on lipstick. She’d looked like this the last time she’d danced and been gay, whirling to a beat that only islanders knew.

 

There wasn’t anything to be done about the uniform, prison issue and ugly with it.She shrugged and went to the window.

 

It was a lovely day. The little sliver of blue sky gleamed kindly at her.

 

It was alright.

 

Callista Jane was in school. Dad was probably drunk, and Harry was either drowned or somewhere better. Anthony was on the other side of the prison, probably in his cell, probably being very dramatic.

 

No friendly face, she decided. Not for her.

 

They rushed in, as if expecting some kind of fight, and within moments she was pinioned and firmly held.

 

She’d thought of fighting, but there would have been no point. Might as well go as easy as she could.

 

The man who came in next was unexpected, though. He was old, a father’s age, small and stocky, dressed in a nice but not fine suit.

“Come with me, dear,” he said kindly. “It’ll be alright.”

 

...

 

The Final Services: Anecdotes From Albion’s Last Hangman, Curtis Townsend

 

“Townsend had thought with the moratorium his career had seen its curtains. No one expected that the ten year experiment would end with the conviction of an eighteen year old girl for mere conspiracy and kidnaping, offences that had not been capital crimes before the moratorium. Of course, the addition of treason was quickly tacked on to legitimize the whole affair, not that anyone was fooled.

 

Townsend originally intended to refuse to be involved, but was eventually persuaded that it was his solemn duty, especially when it was rumoured that a less skilled colleague was planning to step up.

 

“She was just a little thing,” he told me, over a dinner of shepherd’s pie and beer. “If his maths were off she might have strangled for half an hour. I felt it was my duty to perform the final kindness to her.”

 

He’d led her to the gallows, heard her last words**, directed at the watching king, then he’d gently, quickly, put an end to all her earthly suffering.

 

  * I fought with my father the night he told us what he was doing. It was one of those terrible arguments that young people have with their parents, before we learn that they’re human, too. I still don’t agree with his decision. No one should have agreed to hang Harriet Hook, but I see my father’s perspective now. If someone was going to do it, the job might as well be done properly.



 

  * * Those words, “tick tock”,are sometimes used by pro-Adam Florian historians to attempt to indicate some form of collusion with the rebels. In fact, they’re a reference to James Hook, possibly some form of comment on Florian’s hypocrisy. 




End file.
